Dinky Aurors
by almanera
Summary: In Sixth Year, Harry changes dramatically after he gets closer to Fay Dunbar, one of his fellow Gryffindors, who, until now, has been shyly keeping a low profile. Sharing in their ambition to become Aurors, they investigate the suspicious activities taking place at school. Soon both will have to confront dark forces which are threatening to seize power—how will they cope?
1. Chapter 1: Meet Fay

_Autumn term, 1996_

The last few days at the Burrow had been as good as they could possibly have been under the circumstances. Harry had been sad to leave the place. He waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr and Mrs Weasley were lost to view, then turned to see where the others had got to. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen; Harry suspected they had already headed for the Prefects' carriage. Ginny still lingered nearby, though. Without thinking twice, he approached her.

"Fancy trying to find a compartment?"

"I can't, Harry, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny brightly. "See you later."

"Right," said Harry.

He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her. It didn't help that he was surrounded by countless mesmerized girls, all of whom were gaping and gawping at him. Harry had suspected all along he would not be able to escape the fame which accompanied his stupid title of the _Chosen One_, yet his assumptions had done little to prepare him for the unpleasant sensation of being in the constant spotlight. Anxious to avoid the other students' prying looks, he stepped into the first—seemingly—empty compartment.

"Charm your hair blond and don't face the glass door," a bossy voice suggested from behind him.

Harry spun around, perplexed. "Excuse me?"

The compartment he had hurriedly entered already contained an occupant. It was a girl. Harry noticed at once she was wearing a Gryffindor tie. She had to be either in his year or in a year below, though he had the impression he had hardly ever seen her at Hogwarts.

She was tall and possessed regular features, sober grey eyes, and mousy hair. There was something very stern about her, as though she were related to Professor McGonagall.

"Judging by the way you burst into this compartment, I'd say you were trying to avoid unnecessary attention," the girl elaborated. "The easiest way to misdirect whomever you're unwilling to confront is to quickly alter your appearance— a coat and a simple charm on your hair will do. Just try not to come too close to the compartment doors: otherwise they'll see your face."

Harry stared at her.

"You should be all right, really," the girl said with a small smile. "I promise I won't go yelling about your whereabouts."

Harry nodded, his eyes still fixed on her. Their silence was becoming a little uncomfortable. He ought to say something, he knew he ought to, but he had no idea what. He would have liked to know her name, yet this would reveal that he had never paid attention to her, even though they had definitely shared the same Common Room for years.

Gingerly, he sat down opposite her. At that very moment, he spotted the title of the novel she was reading.

"Are you a Muggle-born?" he asked curiously.

She smiled again. "No, I'm not, but this shouldn't imply I don't admire great thinkers. Solving riddles requires more than considerable deductive abilities and a brilliant magical skill. As a future Auror, I need to be both open-minded and aware of the numerous possibilities and tricks the dark minds rely on."

"You want to become an Auror?" Harry questioned with interest.

"It's been my childhood dream ever since I can remember," she admitted, her voice softening slightly before she caught herself. "Anyway, I can tell just by looking at you that you recently spent a healthy amount of time somewhere near Devonshire."

"I spent the last few weeks of the holidays in Ottery St Catchpole," Harry admitted, nonplussed. "How did you know?"

"In the same way as I know that you've been wearing loose clothes lately," the girl said. "The fertile red soil on your shoes can only be found in Devonshire. As to how I knew you'd spent more than one day in the said location, it's simple: you keep tugging at your tie as if you found it restrictive. In a few days, the tie will feel like a second skin, but now it feels invasive because you must have been wearing something more comfortable."

She had a certain enthusiasm about her. It reminded Harry of Hermione's enthusiasm whenever his friend was given the chance to explain some complicated topic only she understood. For the first time, Harry had the perfect opportunity to form his own observations about the girl. She obviously didn't have many friends who shared her passion for Auror work, hence she seized the opportunity when it came.

"All right, that was easy," Harry agreed. "But you might as well have been wrong. Devonshire is not the only place on earth with such type of soil."

"Of course!" the girl exclaimed, apparently not offended in the slightest. "It is essential for an Auror to have good observation skills, but being prepared to accept that his or her assumptions might be erroneous is just as important."

"I see." Harry smiled. "But why Devonshire and not some other place?"

"Well, considering the mild intensity of your tan, I thought you must have spent your summer in England; your tan would have been much more pronounced if you had stayed on the continent during this time of the year. But there was also this reddish dust typical of the sandstone, so I narrowed the possible locations down to the South West of England. And… um... I got lucky as well," she finished, somewhat lamely.

"Do you analyse _everybody_ like this?" Harry inquired, starting to feel amused.

"You know what? Let's try it," she proposed to his utter bewilderment.

Without waiting for his reply, she put her book down and bolted towards the compartment door.

"Wha—"

"Shhh…" she insisted. "Observe the people on the train…"

Feeling sceptical, Harry peered out, careful not to be spotted by any of the admiring girls. To his great annoyance, however, his gaze landed on Ginny and Dean, who were walking hand in hand. Ginny was laughing as she spoke to him, and her delicate fingers were playing with one of her fiery locks of hair.

"She's lying," the girl commented suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"My observation leads me to believe that the girl with the long red hair is being deceitful. As you can see, she is leaning her head back, touching her lips and hair, avoiding direct eye contact with the boy and looking to her right instead—these are all the tell-tale signs of lying the girls usually exhibit."

"Ginny is not deceitful!" Harry countered coldly.

All at once, he no longer liked this girl or her obsession with logical deductions.

His frosty tone did not escape her notice. She turned her sober grey eyes to his green ones and looked at him very attentively, her mouth a comical 'O' of surprise. Her posture had shifted into a defensive stance.

"I'm certain of my observations," she said. "Watching human behaviour is easier than deducing people's motives because it doesn't require such variety of knowledge. However, it was not my intention to insult your friend. What I meant to say is that she wasn't being truthful while flirting with that boy, which is logical when you think about it: people often exaggerate when they flirt, since they want to appear in the best possible light."

After this clarification, they gaped at each other. Harry was not entirely appeased. He didn't like it when someone attacked his friends, even though it was understood the girl had not meant to insult Ginny.

"I bet your observations get you in a lot of trouble," he said at last.

"Oh, all the time. Especially with Slytherins."

Harry's bad temper evaporated at this statement. He had a fair idea what the girl might have said to the snakes on occasions.

"Err... I'm Harry…," he said awkwardly, realising that they still hadn't introduced themselves to each other.

"I'm Fay. Fay Dunbar," she answered. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Harry dared another glance at her straight face and clear grey eyes. He had never met anyone quite like her. Luna and Hermione, although exceptionally perceptive, were very different.

He could tell her… Unlike his friends, she would understand. He would have to be cautious so that she wouldn't guess he was talking about Malfoy, but it was worth a try. Maybe if he presented his suspicions as a _hypothetical __case_, she would give him some insight into the matter.

_Well, it never hurts to try,_ he thought.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

It later occurred to Harry that there was far more to Auror work than he had previously thought.

* * *

**AN**: Fay Dunbar is not JKR's creation, but a creation of a company who produces video games based on Harry Potter franchise. Notwithstanding, when I accidentally stumbled upon this character I was thrilled. A Gryffindor girl who wants to become an Auror has so much potential, don't you agree? Not to mention that writing such a character gives an opportunity to explore a different kind of intelligence. So, keeping that all in mind, I decided to give it a try. I hope you like it.

Special thanks goes to the amazing **Tarpeia **for beta-reading.


	2. Chapter 2: Collaboration

As the week progressed, Harry's stress levels didn't diminish in the slightest. To make matters even worse, Snape had been appointed their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

What had Dumbledore been thinking? The man lived and breathed Dark magic, spoke of it with a loving caress in his voice…

Harry paused and took a deep breath. To add to his strain, Fay Dunbar's behaviour was completely impossible to read. The previous afternoon, he had met the girl for the second time as they were having their first Potions class with Slughorn, but she had completely ignored him.

Shortly before this class, Harry had received a note from Professor Dumbledore, according to which their lessons would start the following Saturday. He, Ron, and Hermione had spent their lunchtime speculating what Dumbledore would probably be teaching Harry. They had been finishing their discussion when the bell had rung, alerting them it was time to head for their classrooms.

Once they had descended to the dungeons, they had found out there were only about a dozen people progressing to the N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had manifestly failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins including Malfoy had made it. There had also been four Ravenclaws waiting next to Ernie from Hufflepuff, and… Fay. The latter had been standing in a corner by herself and furiously scribbling into her notebook, her eyebrows knit together in concentration.

"Harry," Ernie had said portentously as soon as he'd spotted him, holding out his hand to the raven-haired teen, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defence Against the Dark Arts today. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags... And how are you, Ron—Hermione?"

Harry had briefly wondered where Ernie had got his pompousness from, but there hadn't been time to ponder this question; in fact, he wasn't sure whether Ron or Hermione had even had the chance to answer. He had been about to make his way to Fay when the dungeon doors had opened and Slughorn's belly had swum into view. The rest of the lesson had been too exciting for him to be able to chat with her, so it hadn't been until this evening that he decided to track her down.

He found her in the library.

"Fay?" he said.

The girl held up a hand to indicate that she could not be interrupted. Her gaze never left the parchment.

Harry waited, but all too soon, curiosity got the better of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking in her piece of parchment covered with long sequences of letters, her magnifying glass, and her book resembling a Muggle detective novel.

"Did you know that the prevalent cause of death among Aurors is plain carelessness?" she intoned.

"Err—"

"Well, it is, and it seems to be fatal to both wizards and Muggles alike. For instance, there was this detective—which is kind of a Muggle version of the P.I.—who was able to locate a suspect in a particular part of London by the stripes embedded in that man's leather shoes. This mistake cost the criminal his freedom. Now, the funny thing is that most wizards would be just as careless in this situation as that Muggle. Who bothers to clean their shoes, who takes the time to go through such details? I was thinking of creating a quick cleaning spell; something so simple could literally save a life—"

"_Creating_ a spell?" Harry inquired, feeling overwhelmed.

"Well, yes, it's not like they're teaching us any simple household spells anyway, so I thought I could create one of my own."

"But... can you _do_ that?"

"Of course," the girl assured, apparently unable to understand the essence of his question. "Every witch and wizard can create new spells or wards. You can use special Runes for this."

"How come I didn't know this before?" Harry's exclamation was addressed more to himself than Fay.

"Well, do you take Ancient Runes?"

"Err... not exactly, no. I didn't know what to choose at the time, so I... settled for Divination."

"Oh... that's not good…"

"Listen, Fay, what I really wanted to talk to you about is that... case. You know, the one we discussed on the train."

Harry leaned forward; the library was almost deserted, yet there was no telling if someone was eavesdropping. To his amazement and horror, however, Fay's kind, enthusiastic expression morphed into one of coldness and hostility.

Not bothering to answer, the girl shoved all her things into her bag, stood up, and pushed past Harry, heading for the exit.

"Fay! Fay, wait!" Harry sped after her, panting. "What did I do wrong?"

At this, she turned and looked him straight in the eye. When she spoke again, he had a bizarre feeling, as if she were withholding something from him.

"Look, Harry, you might find my interests unconventional, and you are entitled to your opinion. But you certainly don't have to make fun of me!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

_Merlin's beard, where did she get that idea?_

His confusion must have shown, for Fay's determination faltered.

"Um... do you… You haven't any idea what I'm talking about, have you?" she asked slowly.

"Clearly I haven't," he admitted.

"I'm sorry, Harry. You see, I usually keep a low profile, but... some people still think I'm slightly touched in the head, so when you didn't return afterwards, I thought you might have made everything up, you know…"

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, perplexed. "I didn't return because I'd been invited to Slughorn's compartment... "

"Don't mention it; I've had some bad experience—let's just forget about it. Better tell me, this _hypothetical case_ we've discussed—is it about Draco Malfoy?"

"How did you guess?"

"I happened to pass a group of Slytherins just as he was making a rather crude joke about breaking someone's nose. Then Snape escorted you to the Great Hall, and you had blood on your face… I instantly remembered it had been I who'd suggested that you should spy on the suspect."

Harry scowled. It wasn't her fault—he would have gone after Malfoy one way or another—but Fay's words had brought back all the emotions he had experienced that evening as he'd lain there, unable to move a muscle beneath his Invisibility Cloak and feeling the hot blood from his broken nose flow over his face…

"Boasted, didn't he?" he muttered in spite of himself. "Figures…"

Fay didn't let him brood too long, though. "If we really are going to do this, you will have to be completely honest with me. It's the only way to avoid misunderstandings."

_Well, with Ron and Hermione absent, there's nothing to lose, _Harry mentally agreed.

That night, he and Fay Dunbar agreed on a collaboration, which was sealed by the passing ghost of Fat Friar, their witness.

When Harry entered the Gryffindor Common Room – Fay had returned earlier – he finally had something else to think about, aside from the notes found in his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

* * *

**Author's note**: our dinky Aurors are starting the 'Operation Malfoy', which means that next chapter should have some more action. Thank you all for giving this story a chance. Any reviews/general feedback are welcome.

Special thank you goes to **Tarpeia** for beta reading.


	3. Chapter 3: Mission Malfoy

Saturday finally arrived, and Harry started his first weekend of the year by lazily examining his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. He had been wondering who the Half-Blood Prince could have been. After skimming through the book, he realized there was barely a page the Prince had not written additional notes on. He also noticed these notes weren't related only to potion-making; the Prince had manifestly been inventing spells and incantations of his own.

"Or _her_ own," said Hermione irritably, having overheard Harry point out some of the notes to Ron. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"You're wrong, Harry is right—it's clearly a boy's handwriting," a brisk voice intervened.

Harry turned around on the spot. Fay Dunbar was standing right behind them, her mousy brown hair woven into an elegant side plait. She looked perkier than Harry had yet seen her; it was obvious she was in a good mood.

"If you look closely, you'll see that the tail of _p_ in the word _spoor_ is made of a straight line. It's a typical thing for a boy to do. Another big giveaway is the lack of convexity in the shapes of 'm' and 'n'; they're concave. In fact, it's almost impossible to tell his _m's_ and _n's_ apart from his _w's_ and _v's_. Lastly, the whole text slants heavily to the right and is very small. This indicates that the author of the notes was right handed and had semi-long hair—long enough to obscure his vision, but not long enough to be gathered in a ponytail. This hairstyle was popular among boys about two decades ago." Fay paused to catch her breath. "You know, I'm surprised—aren't you supposed to be Muggle-born, Hermione Granger? And you're famous for being really smart, so how come that you don't know anything about graphology? It's a Muggle science. A French Muggle named Jean-Hippolyte Michon founded a group called _Société Graphologique_ in 1871—"

"And it has been long since proven that graphology isn't a reliable method to assess the author's personality or determine the author's gender. The only thing that can safely be deducted from a written text is the level of the author's education," Hermione snapped, her tone remarkably cold. "And as to Muggle methodology, then nowadays it is rather about qualitative chemical analysis, which has nothing to do with graphology. But naturally, I can imagine that someone like you has a very limited—"

"Hey, Fay, didn't you want to know about the Quidditch try-outs?" Harry invented quickly to salvage the situation.

He only hoped Fay would get the hint—if she didn't, her conversation with Hermione would most probably end in nothing short of a bloodbath.

"What?" Fay asked, confused. "Oh, yes! I... well... I want to be the new Gryffindor Keeper."

"Keeper?!" Ron cut in, having recovered for his trance. "You can't be a Keeper!"

"Why not?"

"Well, you're scrawny—Keepers must be strong, and you... well... look at you, you're—"

"Indeed, Weasley," a new voice drawled behind them. "Someone strong, broad-shouldered, just like good old Wood was, but... better, if you know what I mean."

The speaker was revealed to be a robust wire-haired youth whom everybody immediately recognised as Cormac McLaggen.

"Evening, Potter; I see that you remember me. We've met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment. I'm here to invite you over to our corner—"

"Oh, dear, your observation skills are appalling, Cormac! Harry Potter is obviously not interested in your invitation—look at his body language: his shoulders are tense, he's subconsciously trying to create some distance between the two of you—"

Fay looked positively sympathetic as she enumerated the clues, much like a teacher explaining two plus two equalled four to a rather slow child.

"Fairy!" Cormac burst out laughing as he took her in. "Oh, Merlin, is that really you? Look, you guys, Fairy is… ahem... Loony's distant cousin, if you get my drift. But if she's bothering you—"

Harry suppressed a groan. Fay and McLaggen had joined them at the worst moment imaginable.

"Did you want anything else besides extending your invitation, McLaggen?" he asked, glaring daggers at the other boy. "Because my answer is no, I'm very busy."

"Well, if you change your mind, Potter—Gryffs have to stay together, you know…"

He strutted away.

"Who the hell he thinks he is?" Ron muttered angrily. "And this Fairy, too…"

"Ron!" Hermione breathed just as Ron realised that Fay had not stalked away when McLaggen had, but had remained standing on her spot.

Before Ron had a chance to say anything, however, Harry had stood up.

"So, Fay, would you like me to help you choose a broom?" he improvised again. "You know, since you don't have one at the moment…"

To his immense relief, Fay was quicker this time. "Oh, yes, school brooms are so bad... eh... um... let's go then."

They existed the Common Room, well aware of Hermione and Ron's questioning gazes burning into their backs.

"What is it?" Harry whispered as soon as they set out through a series of empty halls.

"It's just that I'm so excited: it's my first case, and I've always wanted to be an Auror!"

"Err... Fay... was that _really _all you wanted to tell me?"

"Of course not! Listen, Harry, we have to discuss so many things. First and foremost, we have to be professional about this—you're the first client of Auror Fay," the girl started enthusiastically. "We have to decide when and how often we are going to arrange our meetings. Also, it's necessary to establish the best possible approach for our mission... We have to find out everything we can about Draco Malfoy's plans. Luckily for us, I already have an idea."

"Here's what we do," Harry proposed, thinking it over. "Right now, I have an appointment which might last for two hours. Afterwards—if you agree—we'll meet in the girls' bathroom on the first floor, all right?"

"Girls' bathroom on the first floor?" Fay repeated, her grey eyes growing wide. "The one that is haunted by Moaning Myrtle?"

"The very same," Harry confirmed.

"All right, we'll meet there. Oh, but now I'll really need that broom…"

"Don't worry, we'll think of something," the boy assured her again before adding, in the spur of the moment, "Auror Fay..."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Monday morning of the following week didn't turn out to be nearly as pleasant. The story of Merope Gaunt that Harry had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve weighed heavily on his mind, and the exponentially growing amount of school work didn't help the matters.

Nonverbal spells were now expected of them not only in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration as well. Harry honestly wasn't surprised to see many of his classmates suddenly turn purple, a rather painful expression on their faces, as if they had overdosed on U-No-POO; he knew they were trying to master nonverbal magic just as much as he did. At least Potions weren't going to be a problem this year.

One of the results of this hectic routine was that Harry, Ron and Hermione had been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. Even Harry's secret meetings with Fay were difficult to arrange.

While Harry reflected on this point, Hermione spoke, and it was as though she had just used Legilimency, for her train of thought matched his own.

"We've got to go and explain," she said in exasperation. "Hagrid has stopped coming to the Great Hall for breakfast, it's an ominous sign."

"And he pretends not to notice our greetings," Harry agreed, his brows furrowed.

"Sure, but not now—we've got Quidditch try-outs!" Ron reminded them. "Besides, what's there to explain? We can't tell him that we used to hate his subject…"

"We didn't hate it, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Speak for yourself; _I_ haven't forgotten the Skrewts," Ron said darkly. "And I'm telling you, we had a narrow escape—had we stayed, he'd have made us teach his 'little' brother Grawp to waltz."

"I know! But I hate not talking to Hagrid," Hermione confessed, looking upset.

"We'll visit him after Quidditch," Harry assured her. He, too, was missing Hagrid, but he couldn't quite dismiss the horrible prospect of waltzing with Grawp. "The trials will take a while, though—it's incredible how popular Quidditch has become, all of a sudden."

If he were honest with himself, he was feeling quite nervous about the first day of his Captaincy. He wondered if Fay had managed to find herself a broom for the try-outs.

"Oh, come on, Harry! It's not Quidditch that's became popular, it's you!" Hermione said impatiently. "Frankly, I doubt you've ever been more fanciable."

Ron gagged on his toast. Hermione spared him a look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

"Everyone now knows you've been telling the truth, don't they? The whole wizarding world has had to admit you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really fought him twice in the last two years, escaping both times. Now they're calling you 'the Chosen One' — well, it's not hard to see why people are fascinated by you. Speaking of which, many girls will try to get close to you."

"Comet Sixty-Five—I can't believe Mother actually sent it!" a familiar voice called happily off to their side, and Hermione went silent at once. "See you at the pitch, Harry—good morning, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

Fay was gone before Harry could have responded, so instead, he turned back to Hermione while Ron was clearing his airways.

"You think Fay is one of those girls, don't you?" Harry inquired tentatively.

"_Fay_?" Hermione scoffed. "Since when are the two of you on the first name basis?"

Harry didn't miss her acrid tone. When he didn't answer, she continued, "Listen, Harry, I have shared a dormitory with this girl for the last five years, and everybody except her has managed to make friends. I am not saying she is a bad person, but nobody can really stand her silly espionage paraphernalia and the fact that she seems to think she's always right—"

"I wonder why that sounds so familiar," Ron drawled, taking one last gulp of water to make sure he wasn't choking any more.

"I beg to differ!" Hermione yelled indignantly. "If you are hinting at me, Ronald…"

"It's time to go," Harry announced and left his seat.

"Harry, wait, I wasn't finished yet!"

"Hermione, we are going to be late. Let's go, Ron."

Ron followed immediately, Hermione trailing right behind him.

"Harry, please, I wasn't going to speak ill of Fay Dunbar, but you have to understand that this girl has no boundaries. If... if she happened to pass a bathroom and hear a shriek coming from inside, she'd blast the door open, not even bothering to knock. She has no consideration whatsoever, I swear. And Harry, just please don't tell her your Malfoy-nonsense, she will come up with some utterly ridiculous mission or..."

Harry was saved from responding by Lavender Brown, a pretty blonde Gryffindor classmate of theirs. Lavender wished Ron good luck, granting him one of those seductive smiles only she seemed able to pull off. Ron blinked at the girl and then uncertainly returned her smile. His walk instantly became something more of a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken his nose. Hermione's mood, however, appeared to dampen even more. She was cold and distant all the way down to the pitch and departed to find herself a place in the stands without wishing either of them good luck.

As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Unless he was mistaken, half of Gryffindor had turned up, right from nervous-looking first years, who kept clutching dreadfully old school brooms, to intimidating seventh years, who towered over the rest of them. Most unfortunately, McLaggen was among them.

"Meet Gryffindor's new Keeper," the wiry-haired boy said confidently, winking at Harry as if they were old friends.

"New Keeper, I see—then why didn't you try out already last year?" Harry questioned.

If there were a Gryffindor he instinctively disliked, it was McLaggen.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," McLaggen explained with something of a swagger. "I had eaten a pound of doxy eggs for a bet, can you believe it? Well, doesn't matter now, I _am_ going to be on the team this year... Say, where's that pretty friend of yours?"

"Right," said Harry. "If you mean Hermione, she's somewhere in the stands. Now if you'd wait over there…."

Harry pointed at the edge of the pitch, and as he did so, he saw an unmistakable flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face. It was clear that the boy had counted on preferential treatment. Harry couldn't care less, though.

There was a lot of work to do. He decided it would be best to start with a basic test, so he divided the applicants into groups of ten and asked them to fly a round over the pitch. This proved to be a good decision. The first group was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain on his broom for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised at his own achievement that he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.

The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever laid eyes on. When he blew his whistle, they didn't take off but merely fell about, giggling and clutching each other. Romilda Vane was one of them. When he told them to leave, they gladly obeyed, still giggling.

The third group didn't manage to gather together; all of them scattering in different directions as if in a fright. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group consisted of Hufflepuffs.

"If there's anyone else here who isn't from Gryffindor," roared Harry, starting to get seriously annoyed, "please leave now!"

There was a pause, and then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, chortling with laughter.

After two hours, quite a few arguments and even several tantrums, Harry found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, who returned to the team after an excellent trial; a girl called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who truly was an exceptional flier. To his surprise, Fay scored fourteen out of seventeen, and it was decided in the end that she would become a reserve Chaser to join the team in case one of the regular Chasers got ill.

Harry couldn't help but wonder why the girl had tried out for a different position: he had been confident she'd compete for the Keeper's role.

Pleased though he was with his choice, Harry had shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers.

He was currently about to have an argument with those who hadn't made it to the team as Beaters when something red flashed before his eyes.

Ginny appeared in front of him like a ghost.

"Hey, Harry! Relax, you'll tear your vocal cords like that."

"Hey, Ginny," he said tiredly. "Congratulations—you're the best flier by far."

"Oh, I know," she affirmed with confidence. "I'm second in the list of 'Hogwarts' best,' right after you."

"There's a _list_ like that?"

"Sure there is. I'll show you." Ginny gave him an appraising look. "Say, are you coming to our little celebration after the try-outs? I think it's only fair that we get into the real team spirit, get to know the new people…"

"Um... When are you going to organise the party?" Harry stuttered.

"Oh, you'll get the invitation." The girl winked, and before Harry could add anything else, she was gone.

The rest of the try-out session didn't go all that well at all. With great difficulties, Harry managed to find himself two Beaters. Neither was particularly brilliant, but they were decent enough. Jimmy Peakes was a short but broad-chested third year, and Ritchie Coote, although not quite built for a Beater, still aimed rather well. The boys promptly joined Katie, Demelza, a grinning Ginny, and Fay—the 'Reserve Chaser'.

Since there was no one to choose from for the 'Reserve Beater' position, Harry announced it was time for the Keeper try-outs. He'd hoped there would be fewer onlookers by the time they got to this part, but unfortunately, the whole school seemed to have gathered in the stands. All the rejected players were watching as well. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves—something he had not yet been able to overcome. Ron looked like he was about to vomit.

At least, his name was among the last ones on the list, so there was yet a slim chance that he'd calm down by the time it was his turn. Harry therefore proceeded with the tests. None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece, but Cormac McLaggen managed to save four out of five, which meant he had a very good chance to make it into the team.

In fact, Harry had already started to fear that McLaggen would save all the penalties, but at the last one, he shot off in a completely wrong direction. The crowd laughed and booed as he returned to the ground, grinding his teeth. It certainly was odd.

At long last, it was Ron's turn, and to Harry's delight, Ron saved all the five penalties, thus successfully joining the team. Harry knew McLaggen was bound to create a fuss over his failure, but he didn't care; he had a secret appointment to look forward to, right after his planned visit to Hagrid's.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Oh, you came," Moaning Myrtle drawled, looking disappointed when Harry stepped into the girls' bathroom on the first floor.

"Are you unhappy to see me?" the boy inquired, perplexed.

"No, no… It's just that _she_ looked so delightfully miserable a minute ago…" Myrtle pointed at the brown-haired girl in the corner.

"Myrtle," Fay said warningly, "keep that up, and I'll have that talk with the Bloody Baron—oh, hey, Harry!"

"Finally," Harry sighed, dead-tired. "You did well, by the way."

"Thank you! I know I'm not exactly the best flier out there, but I tried. It's actually great to be able to fly; it's so… so…"

"Liberating?" Harry supplied. "Yes, I know—it's not the actual games that I enjoy the most, it's the flying itself…"

"Yes, exactly," said Fay, nodding vigorously. "But since we don't have much time, let's get started."

_This was it._

Harry glanced at Moaning Myrtle, who was hovering by the nearest stall and watching them sulkily.

"Um… Myrtle, could we have some privacy please?"

His request was fulfilled at once, though with bad grace: the offended Myrtle had plunged head-first into the toilet, taking care to splutter as much water as she could.

Harry could see that despite her nervousness, Fay looked firmly determined, and it was this earnestness in her face that put him at ease.

"You said you had a plan?" he prompted.

"I did. I mean, I do," she agreed. "First of all, let's list all the facts. Based on what you told me during our Saturday night meeting, what do we really know? We know that Draco needs something fixed at Borgin and Burkes. We also know he claims to be involved with You-Know-Who... or is at least insinuating it. Lastly, he might have the Dark Mark—"

"Voldemort," Harry said clearly.

"What?"

"Say his name, Fay; it's just a name. Besides, if you really want to be an Auror, it doesn't make sense for you to fear the name."

"Oh, all right. Vol-V—no I can't!" Fay exclaimed. "Listen, Harry"—the girl saw Harry was about to protest, and she rushed on— "I've looked into several crimes committed by him and his Death Eaters, and many of them are so horrible that I wish I hadn't looked them up at all. I... I need time. Then I'll be able to say the name."

Harry nodded, letting it slide for the time being.

"So what do we do?" he prompted again.

Fay's smile returned. "We'll try to find out what he's up to."

"Fay, he could be up to anything. Whatever it is that he needs to fix is quite large, I know this much. But I have no idea what it could be. As to his possible plans, again, not the foggiest idea…"

"You know, Harry, you'd be surprised at how much a person's room—well, dormitory in this case—reveals about said person."

Harry stared at her, taken aback by such a bold proposal.

"Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?" A smile slowly spread on his face.

"Absolutely," Fay replied. "We're going to have a tour around Slytherin boys' dormitory. But wait, it gets even better—while we're at it, we'll try to see if he really has the Mark."

"And how are we going to do that? It's not like he's going to show it off for us."

"Well, I might need to become Pansy for a while," Fay mused. "The chances are slim because it's a big secret, I'm sure, but it never hurts to try."

"It never hurts to try," Harry echoed.

And so 'Mission Malfoy' was now set in motion.

* * *

**AN**: Do I hear some noise? 'Mission Malfoy' is about to be set in motion. Are you excited? Let me know in the review box.

Million thanks to my beta **Tarpeia** who's done tons of work editing this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4: Crashing the Dungeons

After his first lesson with Dumbledore, a new hope had arisen in Harry; he had felt comforted. Not any more, however. If anything, he now felt abandoned. The moment Hermione had pointed out that Dumbledore had been mysteriously disappearing from Hogwarts – leaving Professors McGonagall and Snape in charge of the school and a dozen of Aurors, no less – Harry had started doubting the importance of their lessons. Frankly, if it weren't for the secret mission Fay and he had been preparing, he'd be quite depressed.

_Where had Dumbledore gone, and what was he doing?_

Halfway through October, time had come for their first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry had been uncertain whether those trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school, but was pleased to know that they would continue; it was very convenient.

He and Fay had agreed to sneak into the Slytherin common room that same day when there would be fewer people around. Their only problem was that Harry really needed to come up with a clever plan to be able to stay in the castle without either Ron or Hermione growing suspicious as to why, all of a sudden, he no longer wanted to come to Hogsmeade with them.

Luckily, there was a way. The Prince had given Harry the idea to fake illness without arousing suspicion, and Fred and George's _Skiving Snackbox_ was going to be handy as well.

Up to this point, everything had gone according to their plan. Harry had taken a gulp of the potion he had prepared in advance and was now waiting for the effects to manifest themselves.

Unfortunately, the Prince had also gotten Harry into a little trouble with Hermione.

They were presently having breakfast, and Ron was telling Hermione all about Harry's morning experiments with the Prince's spells.

"...and then there was another flash of light, and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to some sausage.

Hermione had not cracked a single smile, and she now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.

"This spell was something you'd picked up from that Potions book of yours, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?"

"Well?"

"Yes it was," Harry admitted.

"Harry, do you know how dangerous it is to try out spells without having any idea what they might do? You could have injured Ron!"

"It was a laugh!" Ron exclaimed, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"But Harry couldn't have known that!" Hermione insisted. "Besides, who spends their time and effort making up spells like that? If you ask me, this Prince character is pretty dodgy…"

"Dodgy?" Ron repeated, genuinely surprised. "What gives you that idea? It's something Fred and George would invent, it doesn't make this spell _evil_ or anything! Harry, mate, back me up—Harry?"

The potion was starting to kick in, and Harry found himself feeling unwell.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione questioned.

"You know, I'm not feeling well... I think I'm sick. I don't reckon I'm going to be able to go to Hogsmeade after all."

"But you can't just cancel on us!" Ron said hotly.

"Don't be insensitive, Ron!" Hermione intervened. "Harry, do you think you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, but I need to go and lie down… Sorry, guys, really," Harry said sincerely.

He truly was sorry to see Ron and Hermione so alarmed, but these measures were necessary.

"It's all right. Hermione, do you think you could stop by Tomes and Scrolls and grab a textbook on Ancient Runes? For beginners, obviously," Harry addressed the worried girl.

These words worked magic—literally so: Hermione's face lit up at once.

"Oh, Harry, what could have possibly brought about such a change? Not that it's not good news – it's wonderful!"

"WHAT?" Ron bellowed, just as Hermione looked as though she were about to hug Harry. "Isn't it enough that you're spending days with your nose buried in that Potions book? I'm starting to believe that Loony was right about the existence of these Wrakaputis…"

"It's _Wrackspurts_, Ron," Harry laughed. "And no, I'm not crazy. I just thought I might invent some fun spells—you know, like the Prince did."

Hermione heaved an annoyed sigh. "All right, Harry, I'm going to assume that you're affected by the illness, but I'll get you the book anyway."

"Ha! So you agree Harry's gone barmy," Ron grinned triumphantly.

"Don't be silly, Ron; that's not what I meant."

"Come on, guys, give it a break. See you soon," Harry said hastily, trying to make his exit as quick as possible.

"All right, mate, see you, then," Ron said as he got up.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione echoed.

After the trio exchanged their goodbyes, Harry made sure they could see him return to Gryffindor Tower while the rest of the student body was rushing out of the castle. Once he reached his dormitory, he walked directly towards his trunk and took out his Invisibility Cloak.

It was time to act.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was already waiting in the common room.

"I'm right behind you," Harry whispered from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Here," Fay whispered back, taking out a small vial of antidote for Harry to drink. "How did it go?"

"Fine," Harry answered before downing the potion.

"Good, but we really need to be careful now; the worst part is only about to begin…"

"Are you always this optimistic, Fay?"

This actually got a smile from her. She turned around to face an invisible Harry, forgetting that she was supposed to act as if she were alone.

"Talking to an imaginary friend, Fairy?" McLaggen called in passing.

"To myself, as a matter of fact. But listen, Cormac, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?" the girl improvised quickly.

"You and I, Fairy?" McLaggen mocked. "Merlin, you really are delusional! The only way I will go out with you is in your dreams. Well, I must be going. Who knows, maybe I'll spot Potty's pretty lady friend on my way there..."

Fay and the invisible Harry waited for him to exit before leaving the common room as well. Harry was seething on the inside; should McLaggen keep that attitude, an eventual conflict would be inevitable.

McLaggen's sudden appearance achieved one good thing, though: both Harry and Fay suddenly became more aware of the importance of their mission. There would be no more chit-chat until they reached the oak front door.

As was to be expected, Filch was standing at the entrance, checking off the names of the students who had the permission to go to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, there was also a Ministry Auror to assist Filch.

"Confund Filch—I take on the Auror," Fay instructed as discreetly as she could.

"Hello, Mr. Filch and… Sir?" she proceeded, her greeting bright and loud to mask Harry's silent footsteps. "It's good that you're still here. I overslept this morning and was afraid I wouldn't be let out any more…"

"Would serve you right!" Filch barked. "D'you think I have nothing better to do than stand here all morning and check all these filthy, nosy brats for forbidden items?"

"Now, now, Mr. Filch, no need to be so cross," the Auror admonished. "If you would stand over here, Miss, I need to check you with the Secrecy Sensor."

"Of course," Fay said. "Here's my permission."

Harry noticed that Fay could be a good actress when she wanted to. Her small talk with the Auror was the perfect distraction.

"Dunbar?" Auror questioned all of a sudden. "Say, are you related, by any chance, to Mrs. Dunbar, the proprietor of Fæger Herbae?"

"Of course! She's my mother," Fay replied proudly. "Do you frequently visit our shop? I don't recall seeing you there, and I help Mother a lot…"

"No, no, it's my fiancée who's a regular client of yours; but I just love the Sandalwood oil and the Abyssinian shrivelfigs from your offer—excellent quality, I must say..."

"Oh, that explains it! But you know, you really should visit us more often. We're currently importing some rare herbs from Africa, and there's a manual attached to every little package. These herbs are just marvellous—you wouldn't believe all the clever ways African potioneers have come up with! Ooh, and the package boxes are decorated with African motifs..."

"_Confundo_," Harry breathed, seizing his chance.

Filch's eyes became slightly unfocused, and Harry slipped through the door.

According to their plan, Fay would come out a little later after having finished her conversation with the Auror so that the latter wouldn't grow suspicious. They would then split up, each closely following the person they had chosen to impersonate. Fay would follow Pansy while Harry would keep an eye on Blaise Zabini.

These measures were necessary, for as Fay had rightly pointed out, Draco Malfoy was no fool—a coward, most definitely, but no fool. The blond ponce had deducted Harry's presence in the train compartment from Harry's characteristic Gryffindor touch. This time, it was crucial to avoid such mistakes. Silly slip-ups and bad acting would immediately give them away.

Some ten minutes later, Fay emerged from the castle, clutching at her flapping coat in an attempt to protect herself from the cold, penetrating wind.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly, looking around.

"I'm here," Harry assured her. "Keep walking, I'll stay invisible."

"Good thinking," Fay praised. "Now, first of all, you should know that Draco Malfoy is in detention with Minerva. It's a good thing—if we are quick, he won't even know we've been in his dormitory. Second, we need to agree how and where we are going to meet. Slytherin boys prefer to relax in the upper private lounge of the Three Broomsticks, so don't waste your time on the first floor, where the rest of the customers usually stay. I'm going to try Gladrags Wizardwear and check if Pansy is there. She has a weakness for fine clothes, you know; she always complains about the lack of establishments with a refined taste. Then again, if she's out with Daphne Greengrass, they might as well be at Dominic Maestro's—music is Daphne's passion. What else? Oh, in case you don't spot Blaise in the Three Broomsticks, go to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. From what I've heard, Blaise enjoys calligraphy—"

"Hold on, how on earth do you know so much about Slytherins?" Harry asked, trying to keep up with the flood of information. He noticed that Fay, like Hermione, had the tendency to deliver the entire thing in one breath.

"Well, I'm a pure-blood," Fay answered as if this were the most revealing explanation in the world. "Of course I'd know."

"Yes, but so is Ron, and _he_ certainly doesn't know that Blaise _enjoys calligraphy_..."

"Oh, but he's a Weasley," Fay explained.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, scrutinizing Fay.

He really didn't like the way people would throw the surname _Weasley_ around as if the Weasleys were inferior.

Fay must have sensed the mild aggression in his question, for she turned to the direction of his voice, looking quite at a loss.

"Harry," she said slowly, "surely you must know about the public relations of the prominent wizarding families and their respective social circles?"

"Err... not exactly," Harry answered honestly. "My aunt and uncle are Muggles, so…"

"But didn't the Headmaster explain it all to you? It ought to have been his responsibility to give you an idea... Or didn't Minerva do so?"

"It never came up," Harry admitted. "But why do you call Professor McGonagall by her first name?"

"One of my great-grandmothers was a third cousin of Isobel Ross," Fay said. "Not that I get any preferential treatment…. Come to think of it, Minerva has never called me anything other than _Miss Dunbar_,and she doesn't pay us any visits unless it's for business. Oh, and I'm certainly not going around calling her by first name in her presence; she'd never tolerate such disrespect. I guess I'm just cheeky enough to use her first name when she's not around—an old habit, if you will."

Unfortunately, her answer didn't make Harry any wiser on the matter.

"Fay, I don't follow."

"Uh oh... Have you ever looked into wizarding genealogy?" Fay sighed. "All right, then. Isobel Ross married a Muggle named Robert McGonagall, and they had three children. Minerva McGonagall is one of them."

"So what you're saying is that Professor McGonagall has siblings? And that she's your relative?" Harry briefly felt astounded before recalling that the first time he had met Fay, she had seemed to vaguely resemble McGonagall.

It was bizarre to imagine McGonagall having a family. For some irrational and completely unfounded reason, he had always assumed Professor McGonagall must have been an only child and a lonely person. Apparently, he had been wrong.

"Aye, lad," Fay said hastily, imitating McGonagall's Scottish bark. "That's all correct, she has two brothers and is a distant relative of mine; but listen, that's not the point at the moment. The thing is, pure-bloods tend to know each other. Children usually get acquainted before Hogwarts, and we've all grown up knowing each other's families—if not in person, then at least by name and reputation. As you heard in the entrance hall, my Mother owns an herb shop, which means that…"

"... that you know people," Harry finished for her. The pieces of the puzzle had finally started falling in place.

"Exactly," Fay confirmed. "Now, people who aren't exceedingly arrogant usually do their shopping in person while the rich and important folk tend to send over their house-elves and venture out only on special occasions. For instance, I have never once seen Draco Malfoy or Daphne Greengrass set foot in our shop, even though Neville, Pansy, and even Blaise would sometimes step by."

"It still doesn't explain how come you know so much about them," Harry observed. "Or what you meant when you implied that the Weasleys were different."

"It's simple, isn't it?" said Fay. "I listen and observe. And as for the Weasleys, they've always chosen to stand apart from everyone else, haven't they? Mr. Arthur Weasley exhibits an open admiration for Muggle devices, and Mrs. Weasley never greets the other witches according to the proper wizarding etiquette. It's a good thing that they're so bold, but on the other hand, it _really_ looks like they don't know certain aspects of the pure-blood wizarding world. I don't know, Harry; it's not up to me to judge."

"All right," Harry muttered, mulling it over. "We're almost there—when and where do we meet?"

"Near Zonko's in an hour." Fay thought about it. "By that time, we both must obtain our hair strands to transform into Pansy and Blaise. I'd rather wait for you than transform beforehand. We shall take the potion together and go back to the castle as Pansy and Blaise. The _real_ Pansy and Blaise have to be detained; it's very important. Do you know what you are going to do? Oh, and while you're tailing Blaise, try to remember every little detail about him: how he speaks, how he walks, how he holds his hands—"

"I know," Harry said. "Don't worry, we've been over this."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Scarlet, wine, crimson, blush, vermilion... even maroon! Every shade is there, except for the kind of red I need!"

"Pansy, why don't you try blue instead? It goes better with your eyes."

Pansy considered this. "Hmm… It's pretty, I guess, but blue isn't fashionable this season."

"Suit yourself," Daphne answered tiredly. "In my opinion, blue looks better on you than any shade of red I've seen, and it also goes better with the Goblin-made silver necklace Draco got for your birthday."

"You're right," Pansy reflected. "Hmm, I'll look if there's anything else…"

"Pansy!" Daphne exclaimed, incensed. "I need new cords for my violin!"

"Daphne, dear, you know how important it is for me to choose the right dress. Draco's been down lately, and I need to—"

She stopped talking as the door to Gladrags Wizardwear opened, revealing a mousy-haired girl about their age, who was wearing a Gryffindor tie.

"Well, that's an unpleasant surprise," Daphne muttered off to Pansy's right.

To the two girls' utter horror, Fay walked right over to them. "How do you do, Pansy?" she greeted. "Greengrass."

"Dunbar," Pansy returned in a frosty tone, opting pointedly for Fay's surname. "And since when are _you_ interested in dresses?"

"Oh, I was just... um, looking for a dress for... for a night out with a special someone…"

Daphne and Pansy exchanged bewildered looks.

"Is that so?" Daphne drawled. "And who, in the name of Salazar, could be the lucky wizard?"

Pansy snickered at Daphne's mocking emphasis on the word _luck_y.

"Girls, I may be a Gryffindor, but I know how to keep secrets," Fay countered.

"I'm sure you do." Daphne smiled. "But I wonder... I've seen you eye Draco lately."

At this piece of information, Pansy dropped the dress she was holding. "Salazar, did I hear that correctly?"

"You most certainly did, Pansy," Daphne assured. "Ever since those Quidditch try-outs…"

"Very smart, Greengrass," Fay said appreciatively. "Somewhat old-fashioned, but smart—I mean, you _do_ need to be in Pansy's good graces…"

"Listen, Dunbar, nobody gets away with such insults in my address."

"Oh, but did I insult you?" Fay blinked, an innocent look on her face. "I was merely referring to the Slytherin power plays—House politics, if you will. After all, Pansy here is quite popular at the moment. However, I certainly didn't accuse you of anything nefarious, did I now? I didn't speak ill of your family, and I didn't mock you in any way. So it is the other way around, dear: you are the one out of boundaries."

Daphne's sapphire blue eyes burned with ire as she realized that she had just been outwitted by a Gryffindor. To her surprise, Pansy smoothed the situation.

"What is it that you want, Dunbar?"

"Why, I'm looking for a dress, Pansy, as I just told—"

"Don't play dumb. Why is it that you came over to talk to _us_? I may not know you well, but I'm not unaware that you are hardly the one for small talk. Unless, that is, you really _are_ interested in Draco."

"Oh, please! The only Slytherin wizard I might possibly find attractive is the Bloody Baron," Fay scoffed. "You're right, though, I do need to talk to you, Pansy—alone, if you don't mind."

Daphne sighed. "You know what, Pansy? I'm going out of here. I believe it's getting a little uncomfortable."

As soon as Daphne exited, Pansy turned to Fay with a positively annoyed expression on her features.

"Pleased, are we now, Dunbar?"

"Not yet," Fay answered quite honestly. "I need your help."

"Excuse me?!" Pansy yelled indignantly. "You need my _what_?"

"Could you please buy me those mittens?" Fay pointed at a pair of furry mittens, enchanted to look like little raccoons.

Whatever Pansy had been expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

"Have you been drinking the Essence of Madness?" the Slytherin girl asked slowly.

"No, of course not—do I look like it?" Fay countered, a tad offended. "You see, Pansy, the matter is quite delicate, which is why I didn't ask you in Daphne' presence. It's cold outside, and I don't have any Galleons on me at the moment, and…"

"Just get lost, will you? I can't believe you've wasted my precious time over this rubbish."

"But I thought you'd help me, seeing that I'm the only person who knows about that wart on your—"

Now _that_ got the other girl's attention.

"How did you—" Pansy gasped before her face morphed into a mask of sheer horror mixed with a murderous fury. "Listen, you Gryffindor vermin, if you breathe a single word about it to _anyone—_"

"Please buy me these mittens, and I swear I won't tell—and I won't ask for anything else, either, just please b—"

"Fine, shut up already!" Pansy snapped. "And don't push me! Salazar, what they say about you is true."

"Sorry," Fay muttered, but she inwardly grinned—it had gone exactly as planned.

By the time Pansy went to the shop assistant, Fay had already skimmed through Pansy's diary and summoned some of her hair.

At present, there was only one little detail left to arrange: sending Pansy to the Three Broomsticks. Luckily, that wouldn't be a problem, either. The shop assistant would help her there.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How did it go?" a bodiless voice asked.

"I've got the password and the hair," Fay reported. "Where are you?"

"Right behind you. Where shall we transform?"

"Shoot, I haven't thought about that…"

"Let's go to Honeydukes," Harry suggested, thinking on his feet. "Come under the Cloak."

Fay hastened to do so, feeling both confused and excited.

"This Cloak is amazing, Harry! Where did you get it? And why Honeydukes ? I don't think I understand."

"It was my father's," Harry replied as they set out. "Oh, and just trust me on that one."

The teens didn't lose any time. It was noon, and the majority of Hogwarts students were enjoying their Saturday in the village, which meant that it was their best opportunity to sneak into Slytherin dorms, which, by all means, should be almost empty during this time of day.

They entered the shop before the door could close on the newest visitor. The next thing Fay knew, she was being dragged towards the wall.

"Quick, we can't let them bump into us!" the boy urged.

Fay nodded. "What now?"

"There's a secret passage—in here!"

Fay could only follow as Harry led her carefully past the counter, into the storage room and then through the trap-door. It took them an eternity to descend the worn-out stone staircase and approach the narrow passageway, which, bizarrely, resembled a rabbit hole.

"We're almost there," Harry announced after a while.

"Where?" Fay asked, bewildered.

"In the castle. Listen, there are various passageways leading to the castle. Fred and George Weasley found several of them, including this one. It's our best way to avoid the Aurors, but we'll have to transform here—you do have the potion, don't you?"

"It's in my bag," Fay assured. "Wow, Harry, I never knew! Where does this passageway go?"

"To the One-Eyed Witch Passage on the third floor—"

"You mean it's somewhere near the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor? Did you know she was the one who discovered the cure for Dragon pox?" Fay gushed, overwhelmed.

"No, I didn't. Err... maybe we should transform now."

"Right," she said. "Of course, sorry. Oh, here!"

She quickly conjured two glasses and filled them with a muddy substance they both knew to be the Polyjuice potion.

Harry was about to add Zabini's hair when Fay took hold of his wrist.

"What?" he asked.

"Harry, just let me ask you one last time: are you ready to do this? Think about it—nothing's done yet. We still can back out of it—"

"No, Fay," Harry answered firmly. "I have been working too hard for this. I _lied_ to my two best friends while I could be enjoying my Hogsmeade weekend right now—d'you think I've done all this just to walk away now?! I _need_ to know what Malfoy's up to. Any clue would be useful at this point."

Fay stared into his bright green eyes full of a determination she had rarely seen in anyone else.

"Oh, all right," she stuttered. "You're right, of course. Go on…"

Harry added the hair. The potion hissed and fizzled until it turned, as far as Harry could discern in the dim light, an impenetrable indigo colour.

"Ooh! Not bad—I didn't expect Blaise to look that tasty," Fay commented before catching Harry's bewildered look.

"You can drink it, I don't mind," he said honestly.

"No, no, it's all right. But what did you do to him?"

"Let's just say that... err, he has stomach problems. He's currently stuck in the men's room at the Three Broomsticks and shouldn't be returning very soon."

"Harry," Fay asked with some trepidation, "are you sure we aren't getting ourselves into any trouble?"

"Well, unless you count invading other people's dormitory, impersonating Slytherins using a practically illegal potion—which I have no idea how we've acquired in the first place—and breaking at least some fifty school rules, I'm quite sure, yes," he laughed.

"I have a hunch that Blaise will take the matter to Snape. I mean, if he's forced to spend his weekend in the men's room—"

But then, despite her apprehension, she burst into laughter. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be laughing—it's not really funny—but seeing how Blaise is always so dignified... _Merlin_!"

"Come now, add your hair," Harry urged, smiling.

And so she did. Her potion hissed as well before gaining a green tinge, that of the avocado paste, only murkier.

"Pansy's essence?" Harry questioned. "What did you do to _her_?"

"Sure is," Fay trilled. "I sent her to the Three Broomsticks to meet Daphne once she's done shopping. The latter is not going to show up, but Pansy will end up waiting for her for at least half an hour anyway. Oh, here are the Slytherin ties and badges; the new password is _Runespoor. _Remember to act dignified—you know, arrogant..."

"All right, the coast is clear. Here it goes, then," Harry—_Blaise_—announced as soon as they had transformed.

After a few size adjustments and an additional glance at the Map, they were ready to go.

As they had anticipated, the castle was almost empty, and they didn't have any trouble getting into the Slytherin Common Room.

The room itself was just as Harry remembered it: dungeon-like with a low ceiling, which was dark even during the daytime, and decorated with countless snake and skull ornaments. A couple of first years looked at them curiously when they entered, but receiving a death glare from Harry, they hastily returned to their board games and parchment.

Harry and Fay proceeded towards the stairs that led to the dormitories. Fortunately, the sixth year Slytherin boys' dormitory wasn't difficult to find. In fact, the common rooms of all the four Houses had been built around the same time, and their system was roughly the same.

"Right," Harry said as soon as they had got inside. "Which bed do you reckon belongs to Malfoy?"

"This one," Fay declared after some observation. "See that trunk with the Malfoy family crest on it?"

Frankly, Harry didn't know what the Malfoy family crest looked like, but he'd noticed, that night on the train, that Malfoy's leather suitcase did have some kind of coat of arms on it.

Fay was being very methodical; Harry thought it was almost funny to see so much serious concentration on Pansy Parkinson's face.

"Look at this," she called after a while, holding up an ancient-looking book in a fragile binding. "Draco must have been in a hurry; otherwise he wouldn't have left something so valuable around…"

Harry thought he knew what Fay was referring to. At first glance, the book looked like something to throw into the fireplace; yet upon closer inspection, it really seemed noteworthy. The title of the book was literally illegible, but Harry managed to make out the words _est apartenant, Nico_ and_ Malefo _embossed in the cover.

"Nicholas Malfoy," Fay mused, her voice barely audible. "Must be it... Harry, this tome dates back to 14th century, so it must have belonged to him. Harry, this is big! We're on to something here."

"Why? What's this book even about?"

"It's just chronicles... Some parts of them are even written in Old French, which I'm not familiar with. But look at this—see these ink marks? These are recent, which means that they were left by Draco himself." Fay stilled for a moment before continuing, "Why would Draco be interested in such ancient history? He learned this stuff as he grew up. We all did."

"No idea," Harry answered. "How much time do we have left?"

"We need to get out of here in fifteen minutes at the latest—oh, what's this?"

Fay had put the tome back where she had found it and was now inspecting a few tiny, barely visible greyish fragments.

"Looks like metal dust," Harry commented, thinking of the stuff he'd seen on uncle Vernon's drills. "You know, like what's left after you've scratched some metal."

"Hold on," Fay said.

She gathered the dust in a small pot she'd conjured, and before Harry could ask what she was doing, she'd already cast Incendio on the dust particles, which were immediately consumed by a green flame.

"Did you see that?" Fay exclaimed excitedly.

"What?" Harry asked, somewhat stupidly. For a moment, there, he had been a bit worried the fire would get out of control.

"The flame was green, but not emerald green like the Floo powder—it must have been copper! The metal dust, I mean…"

"All right, so we know that Malfoy's been in contact with copper and that he sleeps with an old family heirloom under his pillow," Harry summarised, disappointed.

He'd really been hoping for more: some dark artefacts at the very least.

"No, not quite," Fay objected. "We know that he's been in contact with copper and that he is looking into medieval history... Harry, do you recall anything made of copper at—"

She wasn't given a chance to finish, for the door suddenly swung open to reveal Theodore Nott.

"Blaise?" the boy asked, utterly astounded. "How is this possible? When I left, you weren't feeling w—_Pansy_?"

"Theodore," Fay returned, slightly panicked. "I'm just waiting for Draco; he's been a bit down lately, haven't you noticed? I meant to talk to him, so I knocked and... and Blaise was here…"

She waved uncertainly in Harry's direction.

"I see," Nott said. "But it still doesn't explain how you got down here so quickly, Blaise—I mean, you were still... ahem... _unwell_ when I left."

"I'm better now, Nott, thank you very much," Harry snapped angrily. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

At this, Nott's mouth actually fell open. But he pulled himself together in an instant, eyes alert.

"All right, as you wish, Blaise," he said and turned on the spot.

Harry knew at once that something had just gone very wrong; he didn't need to hear Fay's faint gasp of horror to confirm his suspicions.

"Harry, he's gone to get Snape," the girl breathed in his ear. "He knows you're an impostor—real Blaise would never be so rude to Theo!"

"We're getting out here—now!" Harry instructed.

"Right." Fay took a breath to calm herself down. "Get under the Cloak and go; I'll try to find another way out…"

"No," Harry said firmly, "we're getting out of here together. The potion won't last very long, and I reckon Snape will seal the exit immediately to catch the intruder. You'll be discovered, so we're leaving together."

"All right…"

As quietly as they could, they crept back to the common room under the Cloak. But they weren't quick enough.

The second they reached the entrance, the stone door slid aside, revealing Nott and, at his heels, the much hated former Potions master.

* * *

**An**: Enormous thanks to my extra-meticulous beta **Tarpeia**. I hope you like this chapter and while I'm at it, I also want to thank those readers who are following/reviewing this story. I think you're awesome!


	5. Chapter 5: Clumsy Denouement

Snape's pitch black eyes scanned the room. Amazingly, his gaze lingered for quite a moment on the spot where Harry and Fay stood invisible, not daring to breathe.

"I'm positive the impostor is still upstairs, Sir," Nott said in a low voice. "I don't think he's had the time to guess that I've uncovered him."

"Perhaps," Snape said silkily. "But let us not take any chances, Mr. Nott."

Harry's worst fears were confirmed at Snape's first words. The former Potions Master would seal the exit, making it impossible for them to leave the dungeons, and then it would be very easy to determine who had ventured into the dorms. Without wasting any more time, Harry sent a series of wordless tripping jinxes in the direction of a group of Slytherin first years to create some commotion, praying for his ruse to work. He still was struggling with the wordless magic.

To his great relief, one of the jinxes hit its target, causing the little boy to topple over an invisible barrier. He lost his grip on the armful of books he was carrying, and the old volumes rained onto the carpeted floor in a succession of mighty thuds. As he fell, he instinctively grabbed at the green and silver tablecloth from the nearest table to steady himself. Not only this didn't slow his fall, but it also made the contents of the table spill onto him as the tablecloth was dragged down; the poor boy instantly found himself showered with chess pieces and ink bottles.

At this, the three fourth years who had been lounging around the table sprang to their feet, and one of them accidentally bumped into a bespectacled girl, who was carrying four bottles of Butterbeer to her friends' spot by the fireplace. She tumbled down, and so did her bottles, two of which broke on the spot while the other two rolled away in different directions. One of her friends, until then absorbed in her piece of pie, rushed to help her up but slipped on a fragment of glass and lost balance. Her piece of pie went flying out of her hand, hitting Snape and smearing his robes.

"Food is not allowed in the common room!" Snape hissed angrily. With a careless flick of his hand, the whipping cream vanished from his chin and collar. "Two points from Slytherin, Miss Adder. And—"

But his next words were cut off as the fire in the hearth swelled to twice its size—one of the damaged Butterbeer bottles must have reached it—and the girls sitting in the nearby armchairs jumped aside with small cries.

The ones responsible for the mayhem didn't stay to enjoy the fun; they knew the confusion wouldn't last long. Harry and Fay hastily made their exit while there still was time. Harry was tightly holding onto Fay's wrist, making sure they wouldn't get separated, and even as he did so, he could feel her hand changing. The Polyjuice Potion was already wearing off, which was both good and bad.

They sprinted ahead, leaving the dungeons behind them and only pausing to remove the shoes they had picked earlier and which no longer were their size.

"Harry, we can't go to our common room looking like that," Fay whispered. "In here!"

She pointed at a solitary broom cupboard which, at that moment, really looked like a good hiding place.

Shutting the door behind them, they desperately tried to get their breathing under control. It wasn't an easy thing to do: the adrenaline was still coursing through their blood, and their hearts were hammering so loudly that any passer-by was bound to hear them.

"T-t-ties," Fay stuttered in between ragged breaths.

"Right," Harry panted back, trying to take the strip of fabric off.

This, too, proved to be a challenge, though. His hands were shaking slightly, and he couldn't untie the knot however hard he tried.

Fay must have sensed his struggle, for her hands went at once to his collar. The only problem was that after their near-fiasco, her hands were shaking as well, so she tore away not only his tie, but also his collar.

"I'm so sorr—"

She never finished her sentence, though, for the cupboard door swung open forcefully, and the mortified Gryffindors found themselves staring at Hermione Granger and Anthony Goldstein—the two Hogwarts prefects who just happened to be in that part of the castle at that time of the day.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"H-H-Harry?" Hermione stuttered. Her gaze slowly wandered over Harry's torn shirt and Fay's hands, which were clinging to it.

She seemed unable to believe her eyes. And at last, Harry got to take a close look at both Fay and himself ever since they had entered the cupboard.

They had fully assumed their true form, but Harry's robes were a little too big for him, since Zabini wore a larger size. Fay's case was somewhat different: she happened to be taller and slimmer than Parkinson, so her attire somehow looked both too short and too large for her. The only similarity in their appearance was that both of them were horribly battered and chalk pale.

"Oh, I'm soaked," Fay lamented, and Anthony was overcome with a sudden coughing fit.

Harry got the distinct feeling that his cough was actually a snicker. And as soon as he came to that realisation, he also became painfully aware of the fact that he'd just been discovered in a rather compromising position in a broom cupboard.

"Harry," Hermione said awkwardly, "would you mind stepping out of there?"

"No!" Fay answered in his stead to everyone's surprise. "We're not done yet—close the door!"

This comment proved to be too much for Anthony, who doubled over with laughter.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked as though she had just been forced to admit the existence of the Crumpled Horned Snorkack; the next moment, however, she understood what Fay had implied and quickly complied.

Harry had heard it too: someone's footsteps were approaching rapidly.

Once again, Harry's grim predictions were most accurate. After a brief instant of nerve-tingling silence, they clearly heard Snape's cold, low voice.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Goldstein," he growled, "May I inquire what you are doing in this part of the castle at this time of the day?"

"Sir," Hermione's voice answered, slightly agitated, "we've been sent by Professor McGonagall to fetch you—"

"There has been an attack—Katie Bell from Gryffindor had to be taken to the hospital wing," Anthony supplied, coming to Hermione's aid.

"And you find that amusing, Mr. Goldstein?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"N-n-not at all! I mean, it was awful—"

"Be that as it may," Snape continued, anger now more pronounced in his voice, "why didn't you come and see me in my office? What are you doing _here_?"

"We _were_ going to your office, Sir. But..."

Harry could sense that Anthony was vainly struggling to come up with a convenient excuse.

"_Yes_?" Snape pressed.

"That would be me, Professor," Hermione spoke again. "I thought I had seen you in the village—I wasn't thinking clearly after the attack—so Anthony and I started arguing. It was my fault. I apologise."

"You were arguing, yet Mr. Goldstein was laughing. How interesting," Snape commented drily.

It was obvious Snape wasn't buying the story at all, but Anthony either didn't see it or just ignored all the signs of a lost case.

"That's how I react to stress, Sir," the Ravenclaw continued bravely. "I laugh, you see. I've read that laughter helps overcome—"

"Enough," Snape snapped, and Harry could picture his expression turning livid at the very least. "Where is McGonagall?"

"She's in her office, Professor," Hermione informed promptly. "She sent for you specifically..."

Snape must have decided to waste no more time because the sound of movement ensued, and both Anthony and Hermione stopped speaking.

"Harry," Fay breathed almost inaudibly, "return to common room—under the Cloak."

Harry nodded. It was a fair point. Snape always suspected him whenever something went wrong at Hogwarts, and he could as well inspect the Gryffindor common room with McGonagall to make sure Harry was there.

By the time Hermione opened the cupboard door again, he was ready. Invisible, he slipped past Anthony and Hermione and headed for the tower.

"Where's Harry?" Anthony asked, astounded, when all he saw was Fay in the midst of Filch's mops and buckets.

"Oh, you know, he's a busy guy," Fay commented offhandedly. "Had some errands to run…"

"Yeah, I can imagine." Anthony smirked while Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Hey, um... does anyone happen to know a good drying spell?" Fay asked timidly. "I'm all soaked—apparently, Filch doesn't care to empty his buckets when he stacks them in the cupboard."

"Oh, so _that's_ what you meant by 'soaked'!"

"Of course! What else did you think I meant?"

Anthony had the decency to blush as both girls sent him a glare.

"Eh, never mind," he said awkwardly.

"I know the spell," Hermione intervened. "Let's walk together, Dunbar—oh, and Anthony, thank you for coming with me. See you later tonight."

"Oh, right, the patrolling," Anthony recalled. "Well, this certainly was interesting... See you later, girls."

Anthony strode away, leaving both Hermione and Fay with the hollow feeling that certain rumours would soon be spreading within the castle walls, and judging from Hermione's expression, she was no more thrilled by this prospect than Fay was.

Fay swallowed despite herself—Hermione Granger looked positively murderous. Their conversation wasn't going to be pleasant.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hermione Granger led Fay out of the dungeons to the Gryffindor tower. Fay found herself feeling bizarrely grateful—it was better to have this conversation in the empty girls' dormitory than anywhere else in the castle.

"It's over, Dunbar. Hand over the vial," Granger said after closing the door behind them.

"What vial?" Fay asked, perplexed, making her way to her bed to discreetly deposit the Slytherin ties and badges under the pillow.

It wasn't a good hiding place, but this was all she could do with Granger watching her like a hawk.

"Don't play dumb, you know very well 'what vial'. The vial containing the love potion you drugged Harry with!"

"_Drug_ Harry?" Fay exclaimed, taken aback. "I didn't drug him—I didn't drug anyone! What could possibly give you that idea?"

Granger sighed, much like a person trying to stay calm.

"Listen, Fay," the girl said, and Fay immediately registered the use of her first name, "Harry is my best friend, and I know him well enough to assure you that he is not the kind of boy who would sneak into a broom cupboard with some—"

"Yes, Granger?" Fay challenged, now getting a little angry herself.

Hermione must have understood that she was crossing the line, for she took a calming breath.

"Look, I understand," she continued. "He's a celebrity, and he's really popular at the moment; you've simply deluded yourself into thinking that by temporarily drugging him, you'd—"

"Oh, now I see what this is all about," Fay overrode her, comprehension dawning on her at last. "You misinterpreted the situation. It's not like that. You see, Harry and I have a case…"

"A _case_?" Hermione repeated acidly, but contrary to Fay's expectations, her demeanour didn't soften in the slightest. "Do you mean to say that you've dragged him into your spying nonsense?!"

"It is not _nonsense;_ you won't even let me explain!"

"Oh, please! Should I remind you of the time when you thought that Filch was actually a hag in disguise?!" Hermione shouted.

"He is a scary man, and I was a first year!" Fay defended herself.

"Or the time when you sent Zacharias Smith flying down the stairs—"

"That was self-defence!"

"_Or _ the time when you tried to convince everybody that Professor Snape had a love affair with Argus Filch?"

"I may have been hasty to jump to conclusions, but I did see Filch kneeling over Snape, who didn't have his trousers on…"

"Does it matter?" Hermione yelled. "You are obsessed with this entire spying thing in the unhealthiest way imaginable, and now you're trying to get Harry involved with some sort of… Ugh, just stay away from him!"

"Who are _you_ to tell me that?" Fay yelled back. "You don't control him—although you certainly aspire to, by the looks of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I don't observe well enough, Granger? You _always_ nag at him, _always_ boss him around—"

"I look out for him because he's my friend—not something _you_ would understand, Dunbar!"

Fay blinked, truly hurt for the first time. Granger was right, she didn't have any friends, and she _didn't_ know anything about 'looking out' for the others. Ever since Anna, a former red-haired classmate of theirs, had been withdrawn from Hogwarts, she had spent her school years alone, speaking to no one except for an occasional 'hi' to her classmates.

"And what about the house-elves?" Fay asked, her voice lower now. "How can you be so full of yourself as to single-handedly decide what's best for the entire population of magical beings? Isn't that a clear manifestation of your controlling tendencies?"

"I don't have any _controlling tendencies_, Dunbar," Hermione returned, furious and offended at the suggestion. "Unlike you, I want to make a difference in the world. But naturally, being a '_pure-blood'_"—she said the word with a particular venom—"you are used to oppressing others, aren't you?"

"I can't believe it, Granger," Fay breathed. "How narrow-minded can you be?! Listen to yourself; you don't sound remotely different from Pansy or Draco—"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione returned, drawing her wand. "You have no idea what it's like to be constantly judged and called something as foul as _Mudblood_, or having your family threatened—"

"_Have no idea what it's like to be constantly judged?_ Granger, you are judging me right now and don't even realise it! Merlin, you are not only narrow-minded but also hypocritical to boot—"

"Shut up!"

"Don't tell me to shut up—"

"ENOUGH!"

Something dark appeared in the middle of the room, and both girls found themselves aiming their wands at Parvati Patil, who, until now, must have been sitting quietly in the corner.

"Put your wand down, Granger; your behaviour is unbecoming of a prefect. You too, Fay. Everybody is upset as it is after what happened to Katie, so there will be no other incidents, is that clear!?"

The effect of Parvati's appearance was sobering. Both girls realized they had been shouting, and they quickly lowered their wands.

"You're right, Parvati," Hermione said, drawing a breath. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that. But I can still tell you this, Dunbar: Harry is my friend, and he has the right to know the truth about you."

And on this note, she exited the room, leaving Fay with a curious and alert Parvati Patil.

A sob tore its way out Fay's chest. She knew that Granger—who had never particularly liked her in the first place—would put an end to the mission she had been leading with Harry, and surprisingly, it hurt more than she could have anticipated. Unbeknown to her, she had become attached to the whole idea: it gave her a purpose, it made her happy, and it was fun. And now, it was most certainly over, she just _knew_ it.

"Fay?" Parvati called carefully while Fay struggled to suppress her tears.

"N-n-not now, Parvati!"

"Fay, don't be silly! Talk to me, maybe I can help. Granger can sometimes turn very cruel…"

Fay merely shook her head. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than just go back in time and start all over again.

_Why had she had to mess up her very first mission? Why? _

Granger would now tell Harry most horrible things about her, and since they hadn't discovered anything important in the dungeons, Harry would surely believe one of his best friends.

As Fay was about to collapse, though, yet another blow came upon her. The dormitory door opened again to reveal a windswept and panting Lavender Brown, still clad in her coat.

"Dunbar!" she cried. "There you are. Auror Williams wants to see you; he says it's urgent. Snape and McGonagall are with him. Are you in trouble?"

* * *

**An**: Alrighty, another chapter down! I understand that Hermione seems much like an antagonist of the story at the moment, but it's understandable that she's feeling quite over-protective.

Question of the day: what do you think, are the fingerprints of identical twins also identical?

Enormous "thank you" and a jar of virtual chocolate cookies to my beta **Tarpeia**.


	6. Chapter 6: Frail Coppery Trail

"Auror Williams?" Fay repeated, confused.

"You know, the one who was checking us for forbidden items when we were leaving for Hogsmeade?" Lavender responded casually.

All the blood drained from Fay's face. If the Auror was looking for her, one thing was clear: they had been busted. The Auror had somehow managed to see through their diversion. Now they _really_ were in trouble.

"Fay, are you all right?" Parvati asked, watching her intently. "You're rather pale—and goodness, what are these clothes?"

Lavender now saw it, too: Fay's robes were much too short and large for her, and her tie and a badge were missing altogether.

When Fay didn't answer, the two other girls seized the initiative.

"Don't just stand there, Lav; help me," Parvati ordered.

"W-what are you doing?" Fay stuttered.

"Helping you—you look like you're wearing someone else's ill-fitting clothes," Parvati explained. "We'll shrink them a bit. Stand still."

"Here, take my tie," Lavender offered, quickly taking hers off to put it around Fay's neck.

"You're missing your badge, too," Parvati noticed. "Never mind—take mine!"

"Thank you, girls," Fay sniffed, truly grateful for their assistance.

"Right. I think you're good to go," Parvati announced a few moments later, looking her over with a critical eye. "What do you think, Lav?"

"Not yet. Her hair looks _dreadful_—"

"Hey!" Fay protested, a tad defensive. "I like my hair! It always looks like that."

"You poor thing… But other than that, you can face your Auror now," Lavender conceded. "He's waiting for you in McGonagall's office, by the way."

Fay lost no time making her way down the stairs, her mind full of anxiety and possible theories as to why the Auror would want to see her.

It seemed to her, this time that Minerva's office was situated much closer than usual. After what felt like mere seconds, she was standing outside the office. She knocked and was told to enter.

Minerva was sitting at her table, her face sombre. Right behind her loomed the former Potions Master, his gaze stony and positively terrifying. Auror Williams was waiting a little further away, his posture neither tense nor quite relaxed.

Fay immediately recognised the professional stance she'd seen certain Aurors assume.

"Finally, Miss Dunbar!" Minerva barked at her Gryffindor student. "About time. Auror Williams has been very worried—well, I'll let you to it."

"You're not in trouble, Miss, don't worry," the Auror assured Fay, taking over the conversation. "I simply wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Err… why shouldn't I be all right?" Fay asked.

The Auror gave her an impenetrable look. "It so happens, Miss Dunbar, that there was an attack on a student earlier this afternoon. The students lingering at Hogsmeade after the incident were assembled and escorted back to the castle. You were not among them, which, for understandable reasons, I found quite worrisome. May I ask when and through which entrance you returned?"

"Well, I… I returned…," Fay muttered lamely. She was now beginning to sweat.

This had been a major miscalculation. The Aurors had obviously been keeping track of all the students who had entered or left Hogwarts in the last months, and Fay had not registered while returning to the castle: she hadn't been able to because she had used one of the secret passages. But how was she going to explain this? There really was no way to explain her mysterious return without mentioning the said passage. Worst of all, Snape was now going to find out about its existence—something Fay wished to avoid at all costs.

A full minute had passed, and Fay was still struggling to come up with an adequate lie. The Auror was throwing her suspicious looks, and so were the teachers.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Miss Dunbar, just answer the question!" Minerva ordered, unwilling to take any more of Fay's incoherent mumbling.

"Am I correct to guess that there is something you want to tell us, but are too afraid of getting into trouble?" the Auror asked gently, taking a step towards her.

As a trained professional, he must have spotted all the typical signs of withholding the truth. For instance, Fay was unable to look him in the eye. It was difficult as it was to come up with a convincing story; if she looked up, she'd see genuine worry mixed with suspicion, and she certainly didn't want to appear guiltier than she already was.

"If this is the case," the Auror continued as gently as before, "then I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen, you have my word. I'm sure your professors will give me their full support—isn't that right, Mrs McGonagall, Mr Snape?"

"I have no say when it comes to the punishment of Gryffindor students," Snape declared sullenly, sounding as though he wished the opposite were true. "Not to mention that I have been summoned here for an entirely different purpose."

The Auror turned to Minerva, who had her lips pursed in discontent.

"Well, it would depend on the severity of Miss Dunbar's misstep, though I can agree to bend the detention policy for the sake of your investigation… But surely you can answer a simple question, Miss Dunbar: when and through which entrance did you come back from Hogsmeade, and why on earth didn't you register?"

"I… I… I came back…"

Fay was saved by a light knock on the door. A beautiful young woman with a heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair peeked in. It didn't escape the guilty Gryffindor's notice that she, too, was wearing an Auror badge.

"Yes, Tonks?" Auror Williams asked.

"Oh, there you are! Are you questioning the lost damsel?" the young Auror inquired, "There's no need—I am the one who escorted her back to the castle."

"Really?"

Auror Williams's voice was interrupted by Minerva's loud, "_then why on earth didn't you just say so?'_

"Well, I was shocked by… by what happened to Katie. She didn't deserve it… I mean, she's never done anything to anyone," Fay invented wildly, praying it sounded realistic enough. It was partially true, since she really felt sorry for her fellow Gryffindor.

"Did you witness the attack, then, Miss?" Auror Williams resumed his questioning.

"Err, not exactly. Parvati—Parvati Patil, a classmate of mine—mentioned it."

"Speaking of which," the Auror named Tonks interrupted, "are we to follow the standard protocol regarding the attack?"

"No, Tonks," Auror Williams answered with a side glance at Snape. "The Headmaster thinks it's sufficient to trust Mr Snape's expert opinion on the matter."

Fay furrowed her eyebrows. She wasn't quite sure what the _standard protocol_ entailed, but she was fairly certain that the circumstances ought to be documented and all the witnesses ought to be questioned. If this 'Tonks' shared her opinion, however, she didn't show it but merely shrugged it off.

"All right, then," the young Auror said. "Now that this matter is cleared up, I'll escort the lost damsel to the Gryffindor Tower. Oh, and Snape, you should know that one of your students is still in the Three Broomsticks. He absolutely refuses to leave unless his personal toilet seat follows suit… He asked for your assistance and confidentiality."

"Seeing how _confidential _you have been, Nymphadora," Snape drawled sarcastically, "I'd say my work is considerably reduced, wouldn't you agree?"

"Great," Tonks answered briskly, ignoring his sarcasm, "it's all set then. Let's go, Faith."

Fay didn't bother correcting this corruption of her name. She hastily followed the young woman, seeing her as her only way out of this precarious situation. New questions were starting to spread in her mind like doxy eggs on an old curtain. The most important questions of all were: who was this young Auror, and why had she helped her?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"How did it go?" Harry asked as soon as he saw Tonks emerge from McGonagall's office, a meek Fay at her heels.

"Harry!" Fay exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know?"

"Parvati and Lavender told me," the boy explained before turning back to the young Auror. "Well?"

"Just as expected: awful," Tonks answered promptly. "Arnold will be at my back the moment he steps out of that room, and, want it or not, you will have to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You can start now, but first, let us get acquainted. I'm Tonks, as you've undoubtedly already heard."

"Just 'Tonks'?" Fay asked curiously.

"Auror Tonks, if you wish—never mind my first name. And you are?"

"Fay Dunbar, Gryffindor. I'm in Harry's year."

"Pleased to meet you, Gryffindor Fay. So what did you and Harry get yourselves into?"

"Well," Fay began, looking sideways at Harry, who gave her a quick nod, "Harry and I were leading an investigation…"

"Investigation, you say?" Tonks repeated curiously. "You know, let's wait for Arnold—here he comes."

The Auror who had been interrogating Fay emerged from McGonagall's office, looking tired and unhappy, yet still alert. Harry and Fay exchanged a disconcerted look.

"Well, Tonks, care to enlighten me?" Auror Williams asked stiffly.

"Enlighten you?" Tonks sighed. "Why, aren't you quite a little sunshine already?"

"_Tonks_," the man said pointedly to indicate that he wasn't in a joking mood.

"Excuse me, Sir," Harry spoke up, judging this was the right moment to address the older Auror. "This matter is confidential, and I would appreciate it if we could talk somewhere more private."

"You are involved as well, aren't you?" the Auror commented before turning to back to Fay. "Is that why you were so awfully chatty with me, Missy? You were covering for your friend, weren't you?"

For some reason, Fay found herself blushing. The Auror's words had been neither mocking nor suggestive, but something about the way he had phrased his question seemed to imply that she and Harry had conducted themselves like a couple of rookie delinquents.

"How about in here?" Tonks offered, gesturing towards an empty classroom. "We can ward it, and nobody will overhear us."

"Well, after you," Arnold said to Harry and Fay.

The teens could recognise a lost case when they saw one. As soon as the wards were in place and everybody took a seat, they told the Aurors everything they had done.

A stunned silence followed the confession. Arnold Williams even pinched himself discreetly to make sure he was fully awake and had processed the information correctly.

"In other words," he summarised at last, looking directly into Harry eyes, "you drugged another student with an unknown substance to give him a severe case of diarrhoea, and then you impersonated the said person and broke into another student's dormitory? Where did the Polyjuice potion come from?"

"I stole some from Professor Slughorn," Fay dead-panned, making everything worse.

"Right—so I can safely add theft to the list."

"It sounds bad when you put it like that, but we did it for a noble purpose," Fay pointed out stubbornly. "Besides, can't we work something out? I could offer you a special discount…"

Her voice died away, but judging by the Auror's expression, it was too late.

"Well," Tonks mused, "it certainly shows that you're a Gryffindor, lass—if a 'Puff was accused of theft, imposture and break-in, I doubt he or she would be so prompt to add bribery to the list of charges…"

"I didn't mean—," Fay amended, horrified, and she pressed a hand against her mouth like a small child. "I mean, I want to be an Auror myself, I... My dad is one… Please, I—"

"Merlin's beard, relax!" Tonks exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Don't you see I was just pulling your wand?"

It was true; Auror Williams was actually smiling.

"Oh dear, this is so funny," he said. "But you two must understand that you have committed a series of acts that could very easily be considered crimes—no matter how noble the purpose."

"Exactly," Tonks agreed. "Don't you realise that Blaise Zabini could be given a toilet seat as a Christmas present or nicknamed 'Blaise Toilettini' because the two of you didn't—"

She stopped speaking as both Harry and Fay had burst out laughing at _Toilettini_, finding the nickname extremely funny despite the gravity of the situation.

"You're making us look unprofessional, Tonks," Auror Williams sighed. "Now listen here, I have enough experience to recognise truly dangerous people, and I can see that this is not the case. However, your actions cannot be justified. You overstepped the boundaries and must acknowledge it. And what is worse, you've endangered the health of another student: because of your actions, Mr Zabini is now having a rather unpleasant case of diarrhoea. I will check, as discreetly as I can, if he is all right. If he isn't, I won't stay quiet on the matter. Your teachers will be notified, and appropriate punishments will be assigned. You will also have to answer to Mr Zabini's parents. Am I making myself clear?"

"And if he is all right?" Harry asked.

He was now feeling truly uncomfortable. The Auror's speech had made him realise how ill-conceived their plan had been. A quick glance in Fay's direction confirmed his guess that she was feeling the same.

"If he is all right, it will stay between us—but only this once," Arnold Williams promised. "I don't want to catch you breaking rules again. I trust you've learned your lesson, though, and that you won't endanger other people's lives any more. Now, tell me what caused you to suspect Mr Draco Malfoy in the first place."

Harry told the Auror everything he had been repeating to Ron and Hermione for weeks before reaching the point in the story when Fay had discovered an old family heirloom under Malfoy's pillow and some copper dust on his bedside table.

"Copper dust?" Arnold Williams asked. "Are you completely sure?"

"I am," Fay assured. "I burnt it, and the flame turned green."

"YOU DID WHAT?" Tonks cried out, horrified. "Don't you realise you destroyed the evidence?!"

"I… I… Hermione Granger mentioned the Muggle qualitative chemistry, and when Harry said the dust came from some metal, I… It was a wrong thing to do, wasn't it?"

"It was a very wrong thing to do, Miss," Auror Williams admonished, though he now looked even more tired than before. "The idea of establishing what kind of metal you were dealing with was certainly commendable, but you used a rather destructive method, which makes it impossible for us to verify your test results."

"And since you don't have this dust any more, we can't compare it to the metal dust we found on the package containing the necklace that had been used to curse Katie Bell," Tonks added. "This means we only have your word for it—a piece of information we cannot share with anyone if we are to keep you out of trouble."

"Only if Mr Zabini is all right, Tonks," Arnold reminded her. "Don't forget that."

"Oh, don't worry," Tonks said dismissively. "Toilet… I mean, Mr Zabini was afraid to leave the bathroom out of shame rather than anything else; otherwise he was perfectly fine. However, you two"—she turned again to Harry and Fay—"should learn to be more discreet. I mean, you really shouldn't have chatted all that long to distract old Arnold; in our practice, it's a mistake called _overexposure_—"

"Really, Tonks…" Her older colleague shook his head. "You're now teaching these kids even better ways to get away with their mischiefs. Aren't they fairly good already?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Harry intervened again, "but I think Fay and I should be on our way back to the common room."

The Aurors stopped their bickering at once. The clock was ticking, and they had already spent too much time talking. If they wanted to keep this meeting secret and to keep the teens out of trouble, they all had to hurry.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Harry, Fay and Tonks reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry gestured for Fay to go on while he stayed behind with the only Order member, besides Lupin, he could still trust.

"Tonks, I want to ask you something; it's important for me," he said. "Do you know what Dumbledore is doing?"

"What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry chose his words carefully—there were many things he wanted to know. In the end, he decided to start with the simplest question.

"I overheard Auror Williams talking to another Auror, and they seemed quite displeased about not being allowed to follow the protocol. What does this mean?"

"You're rather interested in the Auror work this year, aren't you, Harry?" Tonks asked, smiling, but Harry noticed her amusement was rather shallow, just as it had been in the classroom where he and Fay had confessed their guilt.

The Tonks that now stood before him was not the perky, pink-haired witch he had once known, but a sombre, sad, and tired young woman who seemed to have lost her bubbly personality.

Nevertheless, Harry did not pry but simply answered her question; after all, nobody could be the same after what had happened in June.

"Yeah," he said, "I now pay more attention to it."

Tonks nodded. "Then I'm going to assume you are familiar with the circumstances in which the attack occurred."

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Ron told me how it had happened, except for the details—he said there had been some cursed object Katie had touched."

"That's exactly what happened—someone put Miss Katie Bell under the Imperius Curse and gave her the package with the cursed necklace, which she was supposed to deliver to the castle. The package broke loose while she was carrying it, and Katie's finger came in contact with the cursed item. You know the rest."

Harry nodded.

"What about the protocol, though?"

"Well, the 'standard protocol' is about documenting all the evidence and questioning the witnesses; in this case, it would mean lending the cursed necklace to the Aurors for examination and questioning the entire student body," Tonks explained. "However, the Headmaster would not allow it. Snape took a look at the necklace, and no further questioning will be taking place."

"But why?" Harry asked again. "What if whoever cursed Katie is in the castle? What if it's Malfoy?"

"Dumbledore must have his reasons." Tonks shrugged. "Perhaps he wants to avoid any connections with the Ministry Aurors, or perhaps he reckons the existence of the Order would otherwise be revealed to the wider public. I don't know. Either way, we simply have to trust Dumbledore. Besides, not all the Aurors are like old Arnold—he's one of those rare decent guys who are still left at the Ministry; the majority will switch sides as soon as the opportunity arises…"

"I see," Harry muttered, starting to understand how complicated everything really was. "Do you know where Dumbledore disappears, though?"

"I'm sorry Harry, but I don't. Go on now," Tonks urged him. "I need to be going, and it wouldn't do for you to stay here—oh, and Harry, try to avoid food poisoning when you plan your next diversion."

Harry absently nodded and complied with Tonks' request, but as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole, he found himself face-to-face with an irate Hermione, an astonished Ron and a confused Ginny, and judging by their facial expressions, they all wanted to have a really long talk with him.

_Just wonderful_, he thought sarcastically to himself.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**An**: Our dinky Aurors have committed quite a few mistakes, which was only to be expected - nobody's born absolutely perfect. However, it also means that Snape, Harry's friends, two Aurors, and possibly some other people are now alerted. So if the mission continues, our Gryffindors will have to learn to be more subtle. Things might get heated.

Special thanks to my perfect beta and my dear readers. I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying the story.


	7. Chapter 7: Mission Over?

Monday morning arrived, and Harry found himself having breakfast all alone in the far corner of the Gryffindor table. The row he had had with Ron and Hermione the previous weekend had been one of the worst ones the trio had yet experienced—save, perhaps, for the period during which both Ron and Harry would refuse to talk to Hermione because the girl had caused the Firebolt to be confiscated by McGonagall.

Harry had been forced to come clean and tell Ron and Hermione everything he had done: how he had planned his mission with Fay, how he had tricked them, and how he had ventured to the dungeons, disguised as Blaise Zabini. In the end, Hermione had told him quite a few 'truths' that had really got to him while Ron wouldn't speak to him anymore because in his opinion, it was insulting of Harry not to have confided in him. Harry had pointed out that whenever he mentioned his suspicions on Malfoy to either Ron or Hermione, they would immediately feign deafness, but this hadn't mollified them. Neither of them seemed to believe they had abandoned Harry when he had really needed them. They simply didn't see it that way. Hermione had even started referring to his suspicions as 'his Death-Eater theory'.

"Brooding, are we?" a melodic voice trilled, and Harry distinctly caught the flowery scent he'd felt earlier in the Burrow and in Slughorn's dungeon.

He looked up to see Ginny Weasley smiling down at him.

"Hey, Gin," he said dully. "How are you doing?"

"All things considered, I think I'm doing pretty well—definitely better than you at the moment."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered moodily.

"You know, you kind of brought it on yourself," Ginny countered playfully, winking at him. "Don't worry, though; it happens to the best of us. Next time, you'll be smarter and you'll ask for my advice."

Harry cracked something of a smile at this joke.

"What are you going to do about Quidditch, though?" the redhead continued, more serious now.

"Well, we do have a Reserve Chaser," Harry reminded her.

"Right," Ginny mused, "this Fairy girl... Hermione told me about her, you know. I doubt it's a good idea to include her. Why not give McLaggen a chance? I mean, he almost made it to the team."

"Ginny," Harry said earnestly, "I'd rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower than include him."

"Oh, my," Ginny commented, wide-eyed, "such hostility! What did poor McLaggen ever do to you? Oh, never mind… Hermione won't be happy. She says this crazy Fairy invents all kinds of silly stories and then goes looking for proof that these stories are true… Sounds like a St. Mungo's escapee, if you ask me."

"Fay's all right. Hermione is just being… stubborn," Harry retorted, tired and annoyed. He suddenly recalled the way his best friend had once treated Luna.

He was feeling less annoyed at Ginny than at the whole situation.

"If you say so." Ginny shrugged. "Though I have to agree with Hermione that you are being horribly childish and reckless."

"Did Hermione put you up to this?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"No," Ginny said. "At least not directly. We're just worried about you, Harry. We all care a lot about you, you know."

"I appreciate it," Harry said honestly. "But I'm still capable of making decisions without your meddling, and if Ron and Hermione think otherwise, remind them of Hagrid's egg—they'll know what I mean."

"Hagrid's egg?" Ginny echoed, sounding genuinely nonplussed.

Naturally, she wouldn't understand; she wasn't at Hogwarts when Harry had figured out who had given Hagrid the dragon egg. True, he had wrongly accused Snape, but the rest had been deduced correctly, and it did hurt him to know that both Ron and Hermione now tended to forget about those instances, taking him for some kind of lunatic.

"All right, I'll tell them that," Ginny promised. "But you know, I still think you should avoid that Fairy girl and get McLaggen on the team."

"Ginny, I don't want to fight with you—"

Harry never got to finish his sentence as Dean Thomas suddenly appeared at their side, looking angry and hurt.

"Why is it of such importance to you, Gin?" he asked his girlfriend. "Harry's the captain, and he'll know what to do. Besides, this Fairy flies well enough, and she can't be any worse than McLaggen…"

"Oh, you don't understand _anything_, Dean," Ginny snapped. "I think I'm full now. See you later."

Ginny quickly walked away, leaving Harry and Dean in an awkward silence. It could be Harry's imagination, but it seemed to him that his roommate was giving him suspicious looks. Harry couldn't fathom out why.

Fortunately, the appearance of Luna Lovegood saved the situation.

"Hello, Harry," the Ravenclaw girl said dreamily.

"Hi, Luna," Harry returned, genuinely happy to see her. "Nice to see you! How are you?"

"Thank you, Harry," Luna said, smiling. "I feel very lonely, to be honest. Now that there are no D.A. meetings, there is nothing to look forward to."

"Well... err, you know, there's really no need for meetings this year. I mean, with Umbridge gone," Harry mumbled guiltily, feeling sorry for the girl.

"It's all right, Harry," she assured him. "I spend my days drawing. I find it very relaxing, you know. Oh, by the way, your head is full of Wrackspurts! For some reason, they find you very attractive."

"Well, I'm glad there's _someone_ who still likes me," Harry joked, grateful for the subject change.

His jest worked: Luna actually smiled.

"You're funny, Harry. Most people wouldn't be happy about Wrackspurts making a nest in their brain."

"So what brings you to the Gryffindor table?" Harry asked, smiling back.

"Fay Dunbar asked me to come over; she says it's necessary that you join her before Quidditch practice. She said something about Auror Williams."

"I see," Harry said slowly, wondering what _this_ could be about. It was better to change the subject again. "How do you know Fay?"

"Oh, she occasionally helps me retrieve my stuff," Luna answered. "I think she enjoys helping me—she always tries to figure out who took my things and where they might have hidden them."

"Are people still stealing your things?" Harry asked, frowning. "It's not right."

"That's very sweet of you, Harry, but don't worry, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be used to it," Harry protested. "Anyway, thanks for telling me."

He said goodbye to Luna, promising himself to look into this new case of Ravenclaw bullying, and went to meet Fay. He really hoped there would be no trouble this time.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was waiting for him behind a pillar in the Entry Hall. Harry almost failed to notice her as he walked by.

"Psst! I'm here," the girl whispered.

"Fay! Why are you hiding?"

"I don't want to cause you any more trouble, to be honest," she said, looking at him sympathetically.

Naturally, Fay was aware of the fight he had had with Ron and Hermione. The whole Gryffindor House probably knew by now.

"Listen, Fay—," Harry started, but the girl didn't let him finish.

"Harry, you don't have to explain anything. Listen, I'm going to talk to Auror Williams, and I want you to come with me. I think it's important."

"I see," Harry said. "Wouldn't it be better to talk to Tonks, though? I mean, Auror Williams seems decent, but we don't really know him, do we?"

"Auror Tonks is not at Hogwarts today—I checked."

"Can't it wait?" Harry reasoned. "We can always talk to Tonks when she returns."

Fay bit her lip. She could see Harry's lack of enthusiasm in the matter.

"No, I think it's better not to postpone it," she insisted.

"All right." Harry sighed. "What is it about?"

"I don't like the way they handled Katie's case; it isn't proper. I want to hear what Auror Williams has to say about it."

"All right," Harry repeated dejectedly, "let's talk to him."

Auror Williams was not difficult to find: he was patrolling the ground floor of the castle.

He wasn't happy to see them, though.

"It's you two again," he grunted. "What is it you want now? Have you stirred more trouble?"

Harry had been expecting such a treatment, so he instinctively lowered his eyes, looking every ounce as ashamed as he felt.

To his surprise, Fay wasn't intimidated. In fact, she acted as though the previous day had never happened. At the Auror's sarcastic and somewhat mocking question, she looked him directly in the eye.

"No, Sir," she said very seriously. "We need to talk to you."

"Talk to me?" the man echoed, eyeing the girl suspiciously. "What can we possibly talk about, Miss? And as a matter of fact, shouldn't you already be in class?"

"This is important, Sir," Fay insisted. "I—we—want to know why you aren't doing anything about Katie's attack."

To say that the Auror wasn't pleased with such an inquiry would have been an understatement. He stared at the teen for a long moment before grumbling that this was neither the right time nor the right place to discuss it.

"Then why don't you walk us to Hagrid's hut?" Harry offered. "Professor Hagrid lives on Hogwarts grounds, and we could talk further away from the castle without leaving its territory. It will give you a good excuse, too."

"Learning to cheat rather quickly, aren't you, lad?" the Auror pointed out, raising his eyebrows. "Should I remind you two that you are treading on a very thin line here? I'm pretty sure you would be serving a rather harsh detention right now if Tonks and I hadn't given you a chance."

Harry felt himself blush as his guilt resurfaced. He now wished he hadn't given Zabini that experimental _Skiving Snackbox _candy. After all, Fred and George had warned him they weren't sure about all of its effects. It was like experimenting with Prince's spells all over again.

Fay, on the other hand, wasn't so easily fazed.

"What we did was wrong," she stated. "We do admit it, and we are sorry. But won't you ask us _why_ we did it before you condemn us? I'll tell you why: because bad things are happening, and innocent people are getting injured, and nobody is doing anything about it! What if your little child got attacked next—would you be so indifferent then?"

By the end of her speech, her voice had risen about an octave, and she resembled McGonagall more distinctly than ever. It was no wonder that Auror Williams, a man twice or even thrice their age, looked very uncomfortable. Any decent person would be ashamed of his or her passive attitude in such a situation.

"I am indeed father to a small child. How do you know?" the Auror asked slowly, scrutinizing Fay. "Who told you?"

"No one told me," the girl answered. "I know you have a small child—a toddler—at home as I know that you have recently put on about seven and a half pounds and that you have a rather slack house-elf. I can deduce it from your appearance."

"I'm listening," the Auror prompted.

"Well, the gain of weight is obviously the easiest thing to spot—the shirt you are wearing is a little tight for you, but it had to suit you just fine when you bought it, which leads me to think that you have gained weight only recently and not much more than seven pounds. Am I correct to assume that you got married not a long time ago? Because wedlock tends to have that effect on men."

"All right, that was easy," Auror conceded. "I got married over the summer. What about the baby and the slack house-elf?"

"The stain on your collar," Fay pointed out. "It's baby food. Given that babies are not breastfed after twelve months, I reckon your child is definitely older than one yet still very small if he or she needs this type of nutrition. As to the bad house-elf, this was tricky to guess. The leather on your shoes is damaged; it's the kind of tearing that usually occurs when someone carelessly scrapes the mud from their shoes. And since it's the house-elves' job to clean their masters' shoes, I assumed that yours was either very clumsy or mean on purpose."

"Astounding observation skills, Miss," the Auror admitted. "You could have easily made a mistake on the house-elf because not all the wizards own one, but other than that, I must say I'm impressed."

At her side, Harry was impressed, too, and he made a mental note to start observing people more attentively. All too soon, Auror Williams called for his attention, speaking up again.

"Very well, then," he said. "Let me walk you to Professor Hagrid's hut. If anyone asks, I'm simply escorting you. What is it that this professor teaches?"

"The Care of Magical Creatures," Harry supplied.

The Auror nodded and led them out of the castle, which was, fortunately, quite deserted, for the rest of the students had already finished their breakfast and gone to class. They only encountered one person—a Ministry employee—on their way.

"Well, hello there, Williams!" the man greeted. "And where do you think you are going with these kids behind you?"

"Good morning, Selwyn," Auror Williams greeted back. "I'm escorting them to Professor Hagrid's class. They're late, and after what happened last weekend, they're afraid to go alone."

It was a lie, of course, but Harry and Fay acted along.

"I see," the man named Selwyn drawled, eyeing them speculatively. "Be sure to hurry, then, the classes have already started. Though I'm surprised they are scared—wasn't the matter in question handled with utmost discretion? I mean, there were only three witnesses to the accident: two prefects and the girl's friend, Leanne…"

"Right you are, Selwyn," Auror Williams conceded. "But you know kids; they love snooping about."

"Of course, of course. Don't run telling your friends, though," Selwyn said with a meaningful look at Fay and Harry. "The last thing we need is general panic."

Harry and Fay nodded hastily. For some reason, this Selwyn guy seemed very dodgy to Harry; he was too well-informed, yet he didn't wear the Auror badge. It was one of the problems he was going to question Williams about once they approached Hagrid's hut.

"The attack is being hushed up, isn't it?" Fay asked, walking at Harry's side behind the Auror.

They were now in a relatively safe territory, so they could speak freely.

"Yes, Miss, it is being hushed up," Williams admitted. "The Headmaster's orders."

"But why?" Harry asked.

"I think I can see why," Fay answered contemplatively. "To avoid panic. If this leaks out, people will understand that Hogwarts isn't safe anymore. Some parents want to withdraw their children as it is. Look at Parvati at Padma: their trunks are half-packed because their mother might take them to India any moment… And she doesn't even know the half of what's going on here—imagine if she did?"

"Exactly," Arnold Williams agreed. "Listen to your friend, lad; she's right. But it's not all there is to it. Imagine what would inevitably happen to the image of the school and its headmaster. The public morale is already low, and if people find out that the headmaster who happens to be one of the greatest wizards of the century cannot protect their children, it'll be a harsh blow to their sense of safety."

"Is that why you didn't follow the protocol, then?" Harry asked, catching on. "Because any questions would lead to even further questions as to what happened?"

The Auror nodded silently.

"But… but it could happen again!" Harry exclaimed before being interrupted by Fay.

"How serious is Katie's injury?" she asked. "I skipped breakfast to listen in on the various conversations in the castle. The students don't know anything. There is some silly rumour about Katie suffering from a food poisoning, but I know for sure that she was taken to St. Mungo's today."

Harry immediately registered the Auror's reluctance to discuss this question.

"Her injury," he said at last, "is very serious. Luckily for her, she appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin; there was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put the necklace on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly."

"Katie almost _died_?" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

"Yes," came the grave reply. "Mr. Snape was able to prevent the curse from spreading rapidly. And while I have my own reservations about the man, I think it's safe to say that Miss Bell is alive only thanks to his quick reaction and skills."

Harry digested this before finally repeating his question.

"What if it happens again? What if someone actually dies this time—will it be hushed up again for the sake of reputation?"

"_That_," Auror Williams intoned, "is a question you should ask the Headmaster. I am just a Ministry employee, and while it hurts me to be forced to be so passive and to appear so utterly incompetent in front of such bright and intelligent adolescents as yourself, I cannot go against the orders of the Ministry, and if the Ministry says we have to follow the Headmaster's orders while we are here, this is what I must do—otherwise I will lose my job."

Harry could understand this, even if he didn't like it any more than Fay, if her expression was something to go by.

"What about Draco Malfoy?" Fay spoke again, looking pleadingly at the Auror while Harry still digested what he had just heard. "You do believe us, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, but the fact that _I _believe you doesn't change anything. In order to charge Mr Malfoy with even as much as the possession of this dangerous artefact, precise proof would be needed. Only precise proof will give us the authority to question him under Veritaserum. Without proof, your accusations are unfounded… You also have to consider the fact that his mother is none other than Narcissa Malfoy. I'm not sure if you know, but Mrs Malfoy was born into the Noble and—"

"Most Ancient House of Black," Harry finished. "Yeah, I know. How does that matter?"

To his mild surprise, both the Auror and Fay looked at him with eyes as wide as Galleons.

"Don't you know, Mr. Potter?" the Auror asked. "I thought that you, of all people…"

"Politically speaking, the House of Black used to be very influential, Harry," Fay explained quickly. "Narcissa Black might have married Lucius Malfoy, whose name has been rather unpopular since last June, but the name of Black still carries weight… If necessary, Narcissa will use it to protect her son."

"But in that case, Bellatrix Lestrange should also be very important, shouldn't she be?"

"Considering that she is a wanted criminal, not really. But Narcissa Malfoy has never had any disputes with the law, and she is in her right to use her old political contacts—or at least those that still exist and are rather fond of the House of Black. In fact, certain people would be delighted to see a member of the former Black family politically active again…"

"I see," Harry said. "So if Sirius were alive and cleared of all charges, he, too, could have been influential, right?"

"Sirius Black? Yes, absolutely," Fay said. "Why do you ask, though?"

"I'd hate to interrupt our conversation, kids, but I think the Professor is on his way here," Williams announced suddenly.

True enough, the unmistakeable large figure of Rubeus Hagrid appeared in sight, carrying hay for the Hippogriffs.

"Oi, what yer doin' in me property?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore would return in time for their lesson, but as he hadn't received any notification saying otherwise, he knocked on the door to Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock sharp in the evening.

Dumbledore was there. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk in front of him, casting silvery specks of light across the ceiling.

"Sir," Harry greeted.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "You have had a busy time while I have been away, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, defensive. He did feel guilty about his latest actions, after all, and the Headmaster's innocent question immediately made him feel both alert and somewhat uneasy.

"I believe you were quite put out by Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir. How do you know?"

"I was notified, of course; the news reached me quickly."

"No, I mean, how do you know I was affected by it?" Harry specified.

"How wouldn't you be? " Dumbledore said simply. "The accident affected all the students who witnessed it, and when it comes to such pure souls as you, Harry…"

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" Harry asked.

"Impertinent," said a drawling voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day, although it certainly is amusing to watch the way your favourite pupil finally starts to doubt you, Dumbledore."

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said a little sharply, just as the other portraits were about to reprimand the Black ancestor. "Who have you been discussing this case with, Harry?"

It was best not to lie to the Headmaster. The way Harry had phrased his question clearly indicated that he knew it was Dumbledore who had forestalled the interrogation of the students.

"I've spoken to Auror… Tonks," Harry said, deciding, at the last minute, not to implicate the man who had helped him. "Tonks said that the Aurors were not following the standard protocol because you wouldn't allow it. Why not, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. "You are a smart young man, Harry. What do you think would happen if a full investigation had taken place at Hogwarts? "

"People would talk," Harry said, remembering the conversation he and Fay had had with the Auror.

"People would talk, "Dumbledore echoed softly. "And rumours would spread panic."

"Yes, but isn't Katie's life more important than the school's reputation?" Harry suggested with an earnest look at Dumbledore. "I mean, she almost died..."

Dumbledore merely gazed at him, sad and tired, his blackened, withered hand somehow ominous in the semi-dark office lit only by the fire cracking in the fireplace, the light of several candles and the Pensieve.

"Miss Bell is alive and will make a full recovery—that is what matters now," the old man said with a certain finality to his voice. Still, Harry couldn't let it go.

"But Sir—," he started before being cut off.

"Harry, do you honestly think this is only about reputation?" the Headmaster questioned, his face no longer benign. "Have I not proven to you last year that my reputation does not matter to me when more serious matters are at stake? When the entire wizarding Britain wistfully overlooked the return of Lord Voldemort, it did not deter me from notifying people of the danger they were in, even though my own reputation and the reputation of this school had to undergo a major blow. No, Harry, it is not solely about reputation."

"Then about what, Sir?" Harry asked. "Please explain—I don't understand."

"Harry, if a full investigation was to take place, the parents would immediately withdraw their children from school, and Hogwarts would be discredited and shut down. What would then happen to those who don't have anywhere to go? What would happen to such students as you, Mr Potter? Would you rather return to your aunt and uncle's?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It just seems so unfair..."

"So unfair that you have decided to take the matter into your own hands, Harry?"

Harry looked up. From Dumbledore's face, it was plain that the latter knew all about his mission with Fay. Harry sensed who his source might have been.

"Have you spoken to Snape, Professor?"

"_Professor_ Snape told me about his suspicions," Dumbledore confirmed. "Funny that you should mention it, Harry. Is he correct in his assumptions, then?"

There was no point denying it, Harry knew, but he decided to be smart about his confession.

"I haven't done anything I should be ashamed of," he said. "I did it with the best intentions in mind."

"The best intentions," Dumbledore mused. "It's interesting how what we think is best often ends up doing more harm than we could have expected, isn't it, Harry? After all, when you stormed off to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius, your intentions were of the best as well..."

"D'n't..." Harry choked out as a sudden pain enclosed his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

It was bad enough that Hermione had used Sirius's death against him during their row—he couldn't bear it anymore. He felt he was going to lash out any moment now—one last drop was all it would take.

"_Do you really think I don't understand what's happening, Harry?" Hermione had said. "You are denying your grief, and that's why you latch onto that Malfoy nonsense. It's a simple way for you to escape reality, and this crazy Fairy certainly isn't helping!"_

Harry shut his eyes, only vaguely aware of Phineas Nigellus hissing something from his frame.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "I do not blame you in the slightest, but you must understand that such actions are hasty and ill-conceived. I'm only trying to spare you more grief and regret. I do understand that you are very upset about the way things are being handled, but believe me I shall take all the appropriate measures to investigate who might have had a hand in Katie's accident."

Harry nodded, unable to answer, to recover from the fact that the death of the only adult he could have trusted was being used so harshly against him.

"Now," the Headmaster said a little more brightly, "what should rather concern us is our lesson. I trust you remember the tale of Merope Gaunt?"

Harry choked down the retort that if their lessons were so important then why there was such a long gap between them. Instead, he paid attention. As the lesson progressed, Harry memorised everything he was viewing in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He got to know that Merope Gaunt had given birth to Voldemort while staying all alone and penniless in London. Unable to handle her grief, shame, and pain, the woman—whose health had already been remarkably poor after years of abuse in the hands of her demented family—had died, leaving her son at the very same orphanage where she had given birth.

This was where the story of Lord Voldemort began—in a poor war-torn orphanage, where no-one ever estimated how dangerous inborn sociopath tendencies might actually be if not discovered on time.

Harry didn't leave Dumbledore's office without taking note of the fact that the ring Dumbledore had been wearing the last time they had met was now gone.

Dumbledore didn't waste a moment after the door closed behind the teen. He collected some emerald green powder and threw it into the fire, calling out the name of Severus Snape.

For Dumbledore had not failed to notice that Harry was growing rebellious.

The Dursleys were used to blaming Harry for everything that went wrong in the house, and the feeling of guilt was now deeply rooted in his personality. As a fairly skilled psychologist, Dumbledore knew that if he pushed the right buttons, he could easily influence the boy. The education Harry had received from the Dursleys made his job easier. It was cruel, of course, he knew this much, but it was for the boy's own good. The less trouble Harry caused, the better.

"You called for me, Headmaster?" inquired the man with the sallow skin and semi-long greasy hair, emerging from the fire.

"Ah, Severus, it's good that you could come," Dumbledore greeted, smiling. "I'm afraid you were right about Harry—I've just spoken to him."

"I see," Snape drawled. "So you finally admit he is the one who poisoned one of my students and broke into the dungeons. Didn't I warn you this was going to happen?"

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "Severus, you must understand the boy is still grieving. He is not himself…"

This was too much for Severus Snape. It never mattered to Dumbledore what the brat did: the Headmaster would always find ways to excuse Potter's misdeeds.

"Have you at least found out who his accomplice is?" the dark-haired man asked. "Because clearly our views on Potter differ and I'm sure you'll understand that I have no wish to try and open your eyes on this arrogant brat at this late hour."

Naturally, Dumbledore had been expecting such an answer, so he promptly turned Snape's request against the man himself.

"Your question on his possible accomplice is certainly interesting, Severus," he declared. "Why don't you investigate it? The portraits will help you. But please, Severus, be just and discreet."

Severus merely sneered, hating the headmaster for his lovely habit of assigning most unpleasant tasks to others rather than taking care of them himself.

"Naturally, Headmaster," he sneered, "Seeing how much more difficult Potter's meddling makes it for me to protect Draco, I'll do my best to eliminate this little... complication"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fay was waiting once again in the girls' bathroom on the second floor—the one that had served as their meeting place when they had been planning their mission.

She had a nagging feeling that something was about to go wrong.

At last, Harry came in, but he had this hollow, tortured look to him that didn't bode well.

"Hey, Harry," Fay greeted a little awkwardly, uncertain what to say next. "What did the Headmaster tell you?"

"Listen, Fay, we need to talk," the boy said.

"I know," she agreed. "I had another talk with Auror Williams when you were away. I asked him if he had been serious about me having accidentally destroyed the copper dust, and he said yes: having _any_ kind of evidence would permit them to question Malfoy because our accusations wouldn't sound so unfounded—"

"Fay," Harry interrupted, "listen, our actions can cause more damage than we think. Dumbledore said that with all this political tension, a bad reputation might actually force them to close Hogwarts. We need to stop."

Fay's eyes opened wide.

"I didn't think about that," she admitted. "But then, we just have to produce enough evidence so that Draco Malfoy would be questioned. The Aurors would take him away, and there would be no panic—"

"No," Harry said firmly. "We've done enough!"

"But—"

"No buts—enough is enough."

The teens stared at each other.

"Harry, why are you being like that?" Fay asked at last. "We started this investigation to prevent—"

"We are doing more harm than good," Harry said tiredly. "Look, as much as I hate the likes of Zabini, he really didn't deserve this."

Fay heaved an annoyed sigh.

"All right, Harry," she said. "You feel bad about it—I do, too—but think about it: when adults preach at us, they never ask about the reasons that made us act the way we did, and they never point us in the right direction. All they do is tell us off without giving us any valuable advice—"

"That's not what I meant. We acted no better than certain Slytherins—," Harry started to object, wanting to make it clear that it weren't for Auror Williams's words that had made him change his mind. Fay interrupted him, though.

"Second," she said, her voice rising, "it is important to learn from one's mistakes. You already have, Harry. You won't use any unknown spell or substance as a distraction ever again, will you? For all we know, you might even save Zabini's life one day. All the while, there are countless Slytherins who do nothing but bully the rest of the student body without any repercussions. Do you think Draco Malfoy and his friends feel bad about calling the Muggle-born students _Mudbloods_? No, they don't—they enjoy causing emotional pain! So really, while our actions weren't praiseworthy, they were by no means purposely bad."

Arms stubbornly crossed, the girl finished speaking, hoping that her words would have a little impact on Harry. She was afraid he was the kind of person who would beat himself up for every blunder he made.

Her expectations were futile, though. If anything, the boy had only grown angrier.

It puzzled Harry that Fay didn't understand his point. It wasn't about 'learning from one's mistakes to become a better person'; it was about knowing when to quit, and she obviously didn't. He had learned his lesson the hard way. How many times had he endangered his life and the lives of Ron and Hermione? Why had it never occurred to him that he shouldn't meddle, shouldn't go looking for trouble? If he had stayed in the castle the previous year, Sirius would still be alive... Hadn't Hermione told him that the two most wanted wizards in the country couldn't just have walked into the Ministry of Magic? He ought to have known it was a trap. It was all his fault. Dumbledore was right...

"You really don't get it, do you, Fay?" he asked, suppressing his fury with effort. "We need to stop before it's too late!"

"Why?" Fay asked, clearly put out. "Give me at least one solid reason why our mission should stop because I really disagree."

"Because it's beyond us—there's this whole reputation thing, Malfoy's connections—just everything, all right? We can't go against it!"

"Harry, I grew up seeing injustice everywhere; I know what's at stake. I understand your concerns about bad publicity, panic, chaos, and possible closing of the school, but I think we should investigate all the harder because innocent people get injured. I mean, doesn't it make you angry? If Katie had died, her death would have been hushed up for all the reasons we've listed! We must do something about it—"

"We won't do anything. Besides, it's high time for you to grow up and stop acting like a silly little girl, pretending to be some dinky Auror—"

Harry stopped abruptly as Fay sucked in a breath. She looked as if he had just hit her.

There was a long silence, during which they both could hear water drops falling into a sink from a faulty tap.

Myrtle's bathroom looked more disconsolate than ever.

"Silly little girl?" she repeated almost inaudibly, and Harry looked down, unable to hold her gaze. "You know, Harry, you are the last person I would have expected this from."

"Fay...," he said, his voice breaking. He desperately wanted to explain that he didn't mean what he had said, that it had been only empty words inspired by his anger. He wanted to explain that he wished to spare her this feeling of loss he now endured. A loss caused by his meddling in the things he should have never meddled in...

"Don't," she cut him off. "Don't say anything else; you've said enough."

She stormed out, leaving him standing miserably in Myrtle's bathroom.

Their mission was over, and most ironically, it had ended in the very same place it had begun.

* * *

**An**: Hey, guys, an angsty chapter, I know, but it's only because there were questions about the decisions made in the previous chapter. So, here is your explanation. Magical Britain is as good as at war, so even more panic and negative publicity against a single person the public yet trusts and respects, would be a horrible blow. Special thanks goes to the reader **_m_****_agitech _**for raising this subject in the first place._  
_

Now that it's settled, I assure it'll get better from here and Harry and Fay will work out their differences. They both have their respective reasons for acting the way they do.

While I'm at thanking people, then a modest "thank you" goes also to the readers nick-named _**guest **_and** _Tommy14_** ed alle mie ragazze _**Tarpeia**_ ed **_Inkfire_** \- siete le migliori :)


	8. Chapter 8: A Shot in the Dark

When Parvati Patil woke up, the other girls were still asleep. Groggily, the girl left her warm bed and walked over to the window. It was still very early, and the night hadn't yet fully retreated to give space to a new day, yet Parvati could already see that the morning would be beautiful. The grass was shimmering with autumn dew.

A faint sniffing noise reached the girl, and she immediately turned around to look for a certain big, bandy-legged, ginger-coloured half-Kneazle with an ugly squashed muzzle.

Having failed to spot Granger's pet, she shrugged, dismissing the noise she thought she'd just heard, and headed for the bathroom, planning to take full advantage of the absence of the other girls while she used it.

Her reflection was the first thing that greeted her that morning. Looking closely at herself, she realised she really liked what she was seeing. Her face had a perfect oval shape, permitting her to accentuate her features with the most eye-catching earrings. Her nose was straight and slim; her eyes were deliciously big, mysterious, and as dark as the night; and her delightfully full lips allowed her to rock almost any shade of lipstick, be it matt, glossy, or nude.

Before starting to attend Hogwarts, Parvati used to worry she might not fit in; she had no way of knowing whether there would be any kids of Indian descent at school besides her and Padma. She had even thought that perhaps she'd rather fit in with the Mediterranean girls from Beauxbatons. But once she had actually come to Hogwarts, she had met Angelina Johnson and Cho Chang, two beautiful witches of African and Asian descent, respectively, and had understood that she shouldn't have worried.

It was all about confidence and the right spirit—something Gryffindors definitely didn't lack—not about one's origin. In fact, her exotic appearance only helped her stand out. She and Padma were considered to be the most beautiful girls of their year, closely followed by Slytherin Daphne Greengrass.

Parvati took her time with her morning routine, and by the time she emerged from the bathroom, the night had fully subsided, and the first rays of sunshine were quickly invading the dorm.

The faint sniffing noise reached her again, and simultaneously, she stumbled upon something heavy and almost fell down.

A book.

Curiously, she picked it up. It was a volume of _Adventures of Auror Aubrey,_ which seemed to have been carelessly tossed on the floor.

Suddenly, the sniffing sounds made sense. And they most certainly weren't produced by a Kneazle.

Parvati made her way towards the furthest four-poster bed, the curtains of which were still drawn.

"Fay?" she asked quietly, peeking between the curtains.

The only thing not covered with a blanket was a tuft of mousy brown hair. The sniffing had stopped, though.

"Fay, I heard you," Parvati said quietly. "It's no use pretending you're asleep."

Fay's pallid, bleary-eyed face emerged from under the cover, only to dismiss her. "Go away, Parvati, I'm ill."

Parvati bit her lip. This was no ordinary 'illness'; it was an example of what might happen after a severe public humiliation or some other harsh emotional blow.

"Wait here, all right?" the Indian girl said at last. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

Hoping that Fay would comply, Parvati walked over to Lavender's bed.

"Lav," she whispered, shaking the blonde, "wake up."

"Mmm… lemme…," Lavender muttered sleepily, shrugging Parvati's hand off instinctively so that she could roll over and pull the blanket over herself.

Parvati was having none of this.

"Lav, wake up," she hissed again, shaking her friend with more vigour until the girl finally gave her an adequate response.

"Ugh, Parvati, what's wrong with you? It's so early…"

"Shhh," Parvati whispered. "Listen, we have a situation here."

"What's wrong?" Lavender asked, now curious and more alert.

"Something has happened to Fay," Parvati explained. "She looks dreadful. It's obvious that she's been crying all night, and I just found her favourite book tossed on the floor."

"Do you think Granger has a hand in this?" Lavender whispered back.

"No idea," Parvati admitted. "Doesn't fit Granger's style. But listen, go to the kitchens and bring some food up here. Be sure to include some blueberries, broccoli, grapefruit, oranges, chocolate... But don't just cram everything into a basket—try to create a tasty bouquet. Once done, tell Granger that you've overheard some girls planning to slip a love potion to Potter or Weasley—you know, to keep her busy. I don't want anyone listening in when I talk to Fay."

"All right," Lavender agreed. "But what makes you think that Dunbar will tell you anything?"

Parvati rolled her eyes in a self-explanatory manner. "Girl, please..."

"I'm still your best friend, though, aren't I, Pav?" Lavender asked suddenly, exhibiting an insecurity she so rarely showed.

"Of course you are," Parvati assured her. "Now go, we'll catch up later."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry Potter's day hadn't started much better than Fay's. His first class was Herbology. The night before, he had joined Ron and Hermione for dinner, hoping they would still accept him.

Thankfully, his friends hadn't rejected him, although things were slightly awkward between them. Hermione had been ready to make another remark about his reckless behaviour when Ron had stopped her, producing a Goblin-made silver goblet.

Harry had immediately registered the fact that the goblet bore the Black family crest on one side.

Apparently, that thieving git. Mundungus Fletcher had cleaned out 12 Grimmauld Place of everything valuable he had been able to find. Ron had seen him in Hogsmeade and had managed to wretch the goblet out of his hands before Mundungus had Disapparated.

Harry had been absolutely incensed at the news.

"You do realise that this git ransacked the house the moment Sirius was murdered?" he had shouted, making several people turn around and stare. "And you didn't bother to inform me earlier?! What were you thinking?"

"Hey, you were running about with that Fairy! Don't blame me now!" Ron had shouted back, taken aback by Harry's tone, and equally angry.

"We tried to tell you, Harry," Hermione had said hastily, tugging at Harry's sleeve, "but you wouldn't talk to us. Please, sit down; people are staring at you."

Harry had complied, breathing heavily and attempting to get his emotions under control. He would have surely tried to strangle that filthy criminal right there and then if the man had been present. There was something infinitely dirty and low about the whole affair. Stealing from another person was something beyond Harry's comprehension, but stealing from a man who had been murdered—that was a blasphemy!

This all had taken place the previous night. Meanwhile, Harry had calmed down. It was time to get on with the new day.

_What a joy_, Harry thought sarcastically, following Ron and Hermione to the greenhouses.

The only thing that consoled him at the moment was the fact that all three of them had reached some kind of silent agreement not to fight any more. They therefore opted for safer topics.

"So how was Slughorn's latest party?" Harry asked Hermione, putting on his safety goggles.

That day, they were working with unpleasant-looking, pulsating green plants that resembled grapefruits but were highly dangerous as they tried to get as much blood as possible out of the students.

"The party was quite fun, really," Hermione answered, her goggles already on, and her gloves at the ready. "It's a pity you so pointedly ignore these gatherings, Harry. I mean, Slughorn drones on about famous exploits, and true, he absolutely fawns over McLaggen because the latter is so well connected, but he served some really nice food, and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones—"

"Gwenog Jones?" Ron cried out, his eyes widening under his own goggles. "_The_ Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"

"That's right," answered Hermione. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but—"

"Quite enough chatter over there!" said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over with a stern look. "Potter, you are paired with Neville today, so come along and help him. He's already got his first pod!"

It was true: there sat Neville with a bloodied lip and several nasty scratches along one side of his face, clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object that was trying to cause him as much damage as possible.

"Hey, Neville," Harry greeted, somewhat grateful for having got away from his best friends, who had resumed their bickering over Gwenog Jones as soon as Professor Sprout had walked away.

"Stab it in the middle," Neville instructed. "Yeah, like that..."

They continued working, and Harry found out that in Herbology, Neville was the best person he could have been paired with—even better than Hermione. It was as if Neville could calm the plants down with his mere presence.

"So, I've heard rumours that you're going out with Fay," Neville said after a while.

Harry looked up. "Look, it's not like that between us—"

"But you still admit that you've befriended her, right?" Neville asked.

"Yeah," Harry conceded, not failing to notice that there was something authoritatively protective about Neville's question. "Yeah, I incidentally stepped into her compartment on the train when I was looking for you, and we sort of befriended each other."

"Look, Harry, I know that you're a decent guy and everything, but I thought I'd still tell you: you'd better not make fun of her, okay?"

"Of course not!" Harry assured him, taken aback by such a suggestion. "I'd never—"

"Good, that's what I thought," Neville said hastily. "I knew you weren't the type, but I thought I'd still tell you—just in case, you know. Fay doesn't need any more of that..."

"You know Fay, then?" Harry asked. "I mean, I was sort of astounded when I realised she was in our year..."

"Don't worry, I know what you mean," Neville reassured him. "She keeps to herself a lot, keeps a low profile... Well, not so much lately. How serious is it between you two?"

Harry contemplated what to say to Neville. In the end, he decided to tell the truth, leaving out only certain details; he knew he could trust Neville.

"Fay and I had... eh, a little mission. We were keeping an eye on some dodgy people. You know, she's got excellent observation skills, and she agreed to help. But I... I blew it."

"What? Wait, why?" Neville sputtered.

"Well, Ron and Hermione weren't exactly thrilled at the prospect in the first place... But that's not it. I guess what happened is that there was a lot of fuss and miscalculation, and in the end, I... lost it. I... I'm so ashamed. You know, I just lost it and said something to Fay I shouldn't have."

"What exactly did you say?" Neville asked.

Harry sighed and told him more or less the whole story.

"Did you _really_ call her stupid?" Neville asked in disbelief once he finished listening.

"I'm not proud of it," Harry said honestly, wishing he hadn't been so foolishly impulsive. "I regretted it the moment the words had escaped my mouth."

"That's no good," said Neville. "Fay takes this kind of thing very seriously."

"How bad is it? Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"I don't know, but if you want Fay to give you another chance, you need to apologize and explain what made you say it," Neville answered honestly. "Do you remember how you stopped me from attacking Malfoy last year? You know, when he..."

"Made fun of St. Mungo's patients?" Harry finished grimly. "Of course I do. I'm sorry I held you back, but Crabbe and Goyle would have torn you to shreds."

Attacking someone's parents was something of a red line that could not be crossed; everybody knew that. When Malfoy had insulted Harry's mother, Harry, too, had been ready to finish Malfoy off on the spot, so he knew how awful it felt when someone insulted one's parents in such a way.

"Yeah, well, I don't know if Fay told you, but her dad was an Auror," Neville went on hastily.

"_Was_ an Auror?" Harry questioned, having noticed Neville's use of the past tense. "What happened to him?"

"Well, that's the great mystery. He disappeared while working on some case. It's not really up to me to tell you," Neville explained uncomfortably. "If Fay didn't tell you, she must have had her reasons. Anyway, Gran speaks very highly of the Dunbars—that's how I know Fay in the first place. Her mother runs a very good shop called Fæger Herbae. I really like visiting it. There are so many interesting plants and herbs—"

"Yeah, I know," Harry cut him off. "What about her dad, though?"

"Well, I don't know anything about him, but Fay has never really accepted his death. And then someone called her crazy—someone who didn't know what it was all about but found the insult amusing all the same—so rumours started spreading, and this is how it started. You know what some people at Hogwarts are like."

"Yeah, I know all right," Harry agreed, thinking back on all the times people had spread nasty rumours about him.

"Anyway," Neville continued, "if you call her crazy or stupid, it's bad. She takes it as a very serious insult. Back in our third year, when Smith made that nasty comment about her Boggart... it's a good thing Professor Lupin was there to smooth things out, or else I don't know what would have happened. I guess it depends on how you called her stupid; but after all the insults she's suffered from the others…"

Neville's voice trailed off uncertainly, and Harry felt even worse than before.

He hated himself for not having ever thought of getting to know Fay a little better. He suddenly realised that he had been horribly self-centred. It had been all about him: his mission and his catching of Malfoy. Perhaps Hermione was right—perhaps he _was _trying to escape reality this way. He truly didn't know any more. What he did know was that if he had bothered to just talk to Fay, he wouldn't have been so reckless with his words. Fay was now probably thinking that he was no better than Smith or Malfoy, who went around mocking people and their families in the most derogatory fashion, and it served him right.

Looking around, Harry understood that Fay had never showed up for the Herbology class.

Making up his mind, the boy made quite a few decisions at once.

"Hey, Neville, listen: do you mind going down to the dungeons with me?" he said.

"Dungeons?" Neville repeated, perplexed. "Why?"

"Well, the Gryffindor fifth years are having Potions right now, and I need to have a word with Colin Creevey. I thought I'd wait up for him on his way out of the dungeons, but I really want to avoid Snape and Slughorn, and they both might be lurking there."

"All right, Harry, I can do that."

"Thank you, Neville," Harry answered, genuinely grateful to the boy.

Neville might not have been his closest friend, but he was a remarkable person who had never let him down.

As they finished up their work in the greenhouse, Harry silently continued planning. He needed to give some orders to his hateful house-elf, Kreacher. Having to rely on a creature who only wished him a slow and painful death was like taking a shot in the dark, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Upstairs, in the Gryffindor Tower, Parvati had made some progress with Fay.

Slowly and reluctantly, with a lot of resistance and talking back, Fay had given up and told her Indian classmate all that had happened, leaving out only the confidential information that couldn't be shared.

At present, Parvati was arranging Fay's hair and giving her some fashion advice.

"Your hair is on the thinner side, so be careful how you brush it; you want to add more volume to it—like this. Now, since you like braids, I'd recommend trying a loose Dutch braid or the waterfall braid that smoothly turns into a curly ponytail."

"Mhm," Fay muttered, not really listening.

Parvati's combing felt like a pleasant scalp massage, and since she hadn't slept that night, tiredness was settling in, and she felt utterly relaxed and sleepy.

"All right, we're done. Wake up now," Parvati told her with a smile when the brushing stopped.

"Already?" Fay asked, disappointed.

"Yes, already," Parvati said. "You were positively purring, dear."

"No, I wasn't," Fay protested.

"Yes, you were—just like a cat," Parvati insisted. "Which is why we're moving on to your face."

"What's wrong with my face?" Fay asked, slightly apprehensive.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Parvati assured her, clearly amused by her reaction. "In fact, you have very neat and pretty features—the kind of that pug-faced Parkinson and that heavy-jawed Vane would kill for."

"Now you're exaggerating," Fay smiled.

"A little, perhaps, but I know what I'm saying," Parvati insisted. "You only need a little colour to accentuate and bring out your natural beauty. For your lips, I suggest you use the soft or sheer tones of pink and mauve. You should definitely avoid most shades of brown and caramel—leave them to Padma and me."

"Is this really so important?" Fay asked.

The way Parvati was speaking of beauty made the whole thing sound more complicated than their Transfiguration homework.

"Of course it's important—when you look good, you also feel good. Look in the mirror if you don't believe me."

Fay complied, a bit sceptical at first, and then truly surprised. Parvati hadn't done all that much—she'd just applied some colour to her lips and brushed her hair, adding a Charm to make it fall in waves—but the effect was very flattering all the same.

"Wow, Parvati, you're really good! You should have your own beauty line," Fay exclaimed.

"Do you really think so?" Parvati asked happily. "You know, that's what Padma, Lav, and I have wanted to do all along."

"To launch your own beauty line, really?"

"Absolutely. We got this idea from Flitwick, actually: his speech on Charms was so motivating that an idea occurred to us. What if we created a lipstick with an inbuilt Healing Charm? Or a lipstick charmed to change its colour depending on the surroundings—you know, lighter during the day but slightly darker at night, so that the witch would stand out no matter the circumstances?"

"That's a wonderful idea," Fay agreed, a bit surprised, but very happy to see Parvati so glad and enthusiastic for a change. "Hey, we could be associates one day—Fæger Herbae could certainly offer a beauty shelf. I can speak to mum..."

"Really?" Parvati exclaimed, almost jumping on the spot. "You would do that? That's so... But wait, what about your Auror dream?"

This brought Fay back to reality.

"It was stupid," Fay declared. "Maybe people are right to make fun of me. Maybe I just see what I want to see… Maybe I make up silly stories and—"

"No, they're not right," Parvati told her sternly. "Look, from what you have told me, it's plain that you and Potter are the only ones who suspected something bad might happen at Hogwarts despite the security measures. No one else bothered even paying attention. Quite frankly, you should be proud of yourself. Don't give up now."

Fay looked at her classmate.

"Not that I'm ungrateful for everything you've done for me, Parvati, but why such a change of attitude? You never helped me before; you never even talked to me during the five years we shared a dormitory."

Parvati sighed. "I know what you mean, but you and Granger always make us feel like a pair of stupid chickens."

"Do we?" Fay asked, surprised. "How so?"

"By showing off your knowledge of electricity and the Morse code and the Auror procedures and many other funny disciplines with names I can't even pronounce, all in that annoying self-explanatory way, and then snorting when we don't know something you do… Oh, and Granger _always_ snorts when she hears us discuss fashion. All of this. "

Fay stared at her.

"I'm sorry, Parvati, I didn't realise you and Lavender felt that way."

"Well, now you know," Parvati announced, arms crossed, before her expression softened. "I guess I'm now becoming a bit more mature, too... You know, now that there's a strong possibility that my mum would take me away."

Fay nodded, imagining how Parvati must feel but not knowing what to say.

She didn't have to say anything, though, because a moment later, Parvati spoke again.

"So what are you going to do about Potter?"

"I don't know," Fay admitted. "I felt so betrayed… I'd have never expected such a thing from _him_."

"You know what?" Parvati asked rhetorically. "Just ignore him. Trust me, I've been there. Potter seems like a nice boy at first, but later, you find out that he's just a self-absorbed, arrogant jerk. Do you know how awfully he treated me at the Yule Ball? I had spent hours and hours picking the right outfit and accessories—in the end, they cost me a lot of money. The saree I wore was custom-made, and I had it delivered from India. This ball felt like a dream come true, you know: something every girl would dream of—not to mention that I truly wanted to get to know that famous boy, who just happened to be my classmate. And how did it end? Potter was horrible. If it hadn't been for Luc from Beauxbatons, I'd have been simply devastated."

Parvati took a deep breath before adding one more sentence, "Really, this boy is so arrogant that he doesn't even care about the most elementary etiquette."

Fay bit her lip. Truth to be told, she wasn't sure it was arrogance. It actually seemed that Harry knew nothing about the etiquette. When he had told her that his aunt and uncle were Muggles, she had understood why Harry was unfamiliar with certain aspects of the wizarding world. But then, it sometimes appeared that Harry did not have any knowledge of the cultural aspects of the Muggle world, either.

Fay's mother had insisted that they regularly visit famous Muggle places so that Fay would understand the way the Muggle world had evolved. Fay's mother had spent hours teaching her about the different architectural styles of the contemporary United Kingdom, about the Tudor dynasty and the current rulers of Muggle England. Every time Fay and her mother returned from their trips, Fay would hastily add the facts she had learned into her notebook, which served her as her own interesting encyclopaedia.

Harry, on the other hand, had no idea which architectural sites were located all over the country or by which Muggle monarchs they had been built. It was as if his Muggle relatives had never taken him on any educational trips.

Still, it wasn't something she was about to comment on in Parvati's presence.

"You're right," she said instead. "I'll just stop seeing him. But there's a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Parvati inquired.

"I'm the reserve Chaser, and now that Katie's gone, I have to participate in the last game of the season."

"Do you really want to play, though?" Parvati asked.

"I don't know… I'm not sure."

"Well, then, it's settled: you obviously don't if you're hesitating. You need to resign."

It sounded very logical. The moment Parvati had voiced this solution, Fay knew it was the right thing to do. She would leave the team and forget about Harry. He would start hanging out with his friends again, and everyone would be happier.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lavender Brown's day had been relatively calm, though she had been feeling less self-confident than usual. Her best friend had spent the whole day with Fay Dunbar, and while she didn't have anything against the girl, she felt a little vulnerable when Dunbar occupied her best friend like this.

These fears had only been dispelled once Parvati had come to tell her what had happened. As best friends, they shared almost everything. Parvati hadn't told Lavender anything the latter didn't already know. Apparently, Dunbar had befriended Potter at the beginning of the term, but they had recently had a row.

There was something Parvati had told her that had made Dunbar more endearing to her. According to Parvati, Dunbar hadn't laughed at their makeup line idea; on the contrary, she had promised to talk to her mother about it.

To Lavender, this was good news. She knew that Dunbar wasn't a fool. She had managed to get an _Outstanding_ in Potions under Snape's teaching, and since her mother ran an herb shop, she knew a lot about plants as well.

Still, there was something Lavender was looking out for. That night, Dunbar was going to resign from the team, and while this event didn't promise to be cheerful, Lavender couldn't help but feel curious how it would unfold.

Finally, this moment arrived. It was evening, and Gryffindors were relaxing in the Common room. Potter was there as well, his friends sitting nearby: Ron playing chess and looking so cute, and Granger doing her homework, as usual. The bossy girl obviously didn't know there was more to life than studies.

Dunbar walked up to Potter with a perfectly stony face.

Lavender held her breath. And so did Potter.

"Fay," she heard him mutter, though he visibly didn't get through to her.

"Here is my resignation application; I need you to sign it."

He stared at her, and presently, so did his friends.

Nobody spoke. Lavender was afraid to even blink for fear that she might miss something.

"No," Potter said at last. "I'm sorry, but you can't leave; you're our reserve Chaser. Think about the team—we really need you."

Dunbar's resolution was crumbling, her stony expression cracking. Just then, the two Gryffindors were promptly joined by Ginny Weasley.

"Harry, you can't make her stay if she doesn't want to," the red-haired girl said.

"Yes, he can!" Lavender cried out before she could stop herself, thus revealing that she had been listening in. "I mean, I sort of overheard you… Harry's the captain, and the decision is up to him. Hey, Ron!"

Having said all this, the blonde quickly retreated but remained within earshot.

Ginny shot her an annoyed glance that clearly told her not to meddle.

"Harry, we can take McLaggen on the team if Fay really doesn't want to stay."

"Thank you, Ginevra Weasley." Dunbar nodded in the direction of the petite Weasley.

Lavender noticed that Potter's friends still hadn't interfered but preferred to leave the decision up to him.

"All right, let's vote, then," Potter said dejectedly.

The team gathered. Ron, the cutest of the lot (_even his freckles were cute!_) was already there, of course, and so was his sister. The Beaters, Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, had been sitting nearby, so they just came over, looking excited. Demelza Robins was the last one to join the group. McLaggen, who looked extremely pleased with himself, had been called, too.

"About time, Potter," the arrogant ponce said in a somewhat offended tone. "I was about to find you myself. Who's better than me to play for Gryffindor?"

Potter's hands, Lavender noticed, turned into fists. More and more people were gathering around to watch.

"The matter is now being decided, Cormac," Ginny Weasley snapped at McLaggen.

The situation was becoming really tense. Finally, Potter addressed the team.

"I have interrupted your evening activities because there is something that needs to be addressed before our final game against Slytherin. As you know, Katie Bell is not able to fulfil her Chaser duties under the circumstances. Fay, our reserve Chaser, has expressed the wish to withdraw from the team so that her position could be taken by someone else. Cormac McLaggen has expressed interest in the matter. In my opinion, we should vote."

Suddenly, Lavender felt Parvati tug on her sleeve.

"Is it already happening?" her friend whispered. "Somehow it's all so nerve-wracking!"

"Yeah, like those shows Muggles watch on that box called teletription. Shhh!" Lavender whispered back, observing the scene.

"Well, that's simple," Ritchie Coote, one of the Beaters, was saying. "I vote for the girl."

"Yeah, me, too," Jimmy Peakes agreed. "It's like a Gryffindor thing, having the best-looking girls as Chasers."

There were a few whistles and catcalls from the rest of the boys present in the Common room, and the Beaters high-fived each other.

"Demelza?" Potter asked, sounding somewhat triumphant.

"Oh, I really don't know... Can I think about it a little bit?"

Potter nodded.

"Ron?"

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a look; this was an important vote.

"Listen, mate, I don't… Fairy's fine."

This time, Parvati and Lavender actually smiled. Somewhere in the middle of the gathering, they had started rooting for Fay.

"All right, this means that four members of our team have voted for Fay. What about the rest of you?"

"Four, Harry?" Ginny Weasley repeated. "You've only asked Ritchie, Jimmy, Ron, and Demelza—and Demelza is still unsure."

"Four including me, Ginny," Potter specified. "What about you and Demelza, then?"

"My vote goes to Fay Dunbar as well," Ginny said, but Lavender noticed how unhappy she sounded.

"Great." Potter nodded, now definitely looking triumphant. "Demelza?"

"Yes, yes, I vote for Fay, too, then. I mean, I've seen her fly, she's not bad," the Robins girl said hastily.

"See, Fay?" Potter asked, turning to Dunbar, who appeared dazed by the outcome of the voting. "Everybody wants you on the team."

Lavender didn't linger there to listen to McLaggen, who had started protesting soundly against Potter's apparent favouritism towards his classmates.

She and Parvati had a lot to talk about; most importantly, they had to discuss the beginnings of a certain development they'd just seen.

Quickly, the girls ran upstairs while the dormitory was still empty.

"Did you see that?" Lavender asked excitedly. "That look in Potter's eyes?! He was really holding on to her... like he couldn't lose her. Merlin, it's so—"

"Romantic?" Parvati supplied, guessing Lav's thoughts.

"Yeah. I wish Ron would look at me like that."

"All right, one step at a time," Parvati cautioned, knowing that Lavender had a weakness for romance. "First of all, their relationship is not like that at all. Fay and Potter have merely done some patrolling together."

"Nonsense," Lavender snorted. "They may not realise it yet, but they like each other, I can tell. Besides, better Fairy than the Weaselette..."

"As friends," Parvati intoned. "They like each other _as friends,_ nothing mo... Hang on, what was that? What about the female Weasley? She's with Dean."

Lavender grinned like a Cheshire Cat**. **

"Oh my, Parvati, you really haven't been paying attention, have you?" she asked, amused. "Things between the Weaselette and Dean aren't exactly smooth. He's too mature for her, I think. He's a half-blood; he's been exposed to two cultures simultaneously, and he reasons on an entirely different level... She looks stupid next to him and doesn't like it at all. Potter, on the other hand, has become very good-looking over the summer. He's got taller, and people call him the 'Chosen One'. It's not difficult to see how the female Weasley has rediscovered him."

"I see," Parvati mused. "If that's true, she's bound to see Fay as a threat. I guess their fight with Potter works really well for the Weaselette..."

"Yes, but look—I think they'll make it up, and then the Weaselette will have a smart rival to face."

"No, Lav." Parvati shook her head. "Fay is not the kind of witch who will fight for her wizard. She will leave him alone."

"Aw, Pav, where is your romantic spirit? Everything's possible yet!"

Parvati smiled. "All right, let's be objective, then. In my opinion, a romance between them is possible, but Potter will end up with the female Weasley anyway. I mean, look at her: she's sassy, confident, cute, she plays Quidditch well, and she has all the makings of a leader. Ginny Weasley can be the second in command and take over the team when Potter's unavailable. Potter's bound to fall for that. Fay, on the other hand, merely sees Potter as a fellow investigator or something. She doesn't even think of romance—and sadly, just like Granger, she doesn't know how to use her feminine charms."

Lavender pursed her lips. "I think Dunbar _does_ stand a chance. She's the kind of person who will listen before making any kind of decision or judging anyone. She'd be good for Potter. Ginevra, on the other hand, is... eh, too domineering. She's horrible to Dean—I think she's taken after her mother. I've seen the way Mrs Weasley treated her husband in public, and I was absolutely shocked. She didn't have second thoughts about humiliating him in front of countless other people. The youngest Weasley has the same tendencies, I can already tell."

"Lav, boys are not like that," Parvati reasoned. "They easily fall for looks and sass. Besides, Ginevra, too, can yet mature."

"I still like Fairy better," Lavender insisted. "I'm betting on her to win."

"_Betting_ on her to win?" Parvati smiled. "Do we have a bet going?"

Before the girls could agree on the terms of their bet, though, the door swung open, and in came none other than Dunbar herself.

"Listen, Parvati," she started, addressing the Indian girl. "Look, I really appreciate what you did for me this morning, but could you please do me one more favour?"

"Sure, what is it?" Parvati asked.

"Could you cover up for me in Transfiguration tomorrow? I might be late to class tomorrow morning, and you know how strict Minerva is."

"No problem, but why should you be late?" Parvati asked, wincing at the sight of Dunbar destroying her masterpiece of a hairstyle by gathering all her hair in a ponytail.

"I'm going to spend the night in the library—there's something I need to look into."

"In the library?" Lavender repeated, joining the conversation.

The blonde girl noticed that Fay and Parvati exchanged a glance before Parvati answered Fay's unvoiced question.

"I told Lav about the dodgy people thing so that she'd know, but we promise it'll stay between us. If you want, we'll give you an Oath of Secrecy."

"I won't tell anyone, I swear. Pav and I may gossip about people a little bit, but we never betray people's trust," Lavender assured Fay, wanting the girl to trust her, too.

"All right, then," Fay agreed. "I'm spending this night in the library because I need to look into a few things. Please cover up for me, will you?"

Lavender nodded, but Parvati wasn't pleased. "Fay, I thought the thing you had with Potter was over."

"It _is_ over," Dunbar assured her. "But it doesn't mean that no more accidents will happen despite the security measures. The mission needs to go on with or without Harry! I am not about to stay indifferent when I can do something."

"Very well, then," Parvati agreed hesitantly, wishing Fay were more careful this time.

As the door behind Dunbar closed again, Parvati sighed.

"You know what, Lav?" she said. "Maybe you're right—maybe something _is_ possible between those two. I mean, they're both kind of stubborn and full of principles. The bet is on."

"Great," Lavender cried out, jumping with excitement. "The bet is on, then."

* * *

**AN**: So, dear readers, are in on a bet as well? Let me know in the review box.

A tight hug and enormous "thanks" to my dear beta **Tarpeia** for having managed to work through this chapter on a very short notice and to the rest of you, beautiful people, take Parvati's advice and rock those rich and deep colours if you have a great tan or if you are just blessed to have a darker shade of complexion. Parvati knows a lot about beauty :)

Most importantly, just enjoy these beautiful summer days because some people (like me) are injured and can't afford such luxury, so here you go - a reason to be positive.

Best!


	9. Chapter 9: A Sneaky Snitch

Potions with Slughorn were definitely better than Potions with Snape, yet Harry found himself wishing that day he could have skipped the class altogether. McLaggen's scandal had been rather tiresome, and there was now so much talk about Harry's _biased_ preferences when it came to choosing new members for his Quidditch team. If Gryffindor lost, it would be the end of his captaincy, Harry knew it. What bothered him most was the mockery of the entire school that Gryffindor would have to face in case of defeat.

In the back of his mind, however, Harry wondered at how such irrelevant and unimportant matters as his captaincy, his test papers or the upcoming Christmas holidays seemed to have become more important than Katie's accident—as if Katie weren't important. It was awful how cynical people were. And yet, weeks would pass, and life at Hogwarts returned to its normal routine. The first term was coming to an end, and Harry would soon be leaving for the Burrow.

Fay still wasn't talking to him. Worse yet, she was paired with Malfoy for this lesson.

They were brewing the Noxious Potion: a poisonous solution with effects similar to those of hemlock—the plant which had brought the death of Socrates, a famous Muggle philosopher. Just like hemlock, the Noxious Potion would paralyse the central nervous system, making it impossible for the heart and the lungs to function.

Curiously enough, the Noxious Potion was not very different from the Shrinking Solution they had brewed with Snape in their second year. Both had a similar consistency and emitted identical—and slightly sour—green smoke.

"Remember, it is never the potion itself but the intention of the potioneer that makes the difference," Slughorn boomed while they carefully chopped their ingredients. "Never forget about Samuel Plunkett and Zygmunt Budge. These two gentlemen couldn't have been more different, yet they used the same potion."

Slughorn was naturally referring to Samuel Plunkett, who had lived in the times when wizards had been mercilessly persecuted by Muggles. Plunkett had prepared a Shrinking Solution and had poured it over a Muggle village, which had quickly shrunk to the size of a dollhouse. Plunkett had then proceeded to terrorise the villagers by chasing them around in hobnailed boots. As a consequence, the Shrinking Solution had been regarded as dangerous for many years: right until another wizard—Zygmunt Budge—had developed his own version of the potion, which he had used for a safe transportation of sheep. These would be turned into mice-sized woolly creatures and comfortably moved around in a box.

Harry remembered these historical curiosities well enough from Binns's class, so he didn't really need Hermione or Slughorn to remind him. If anything, he disagreed with Slughorn in the first place. How a potion that could kill a person in a painful way could be considered useful in any way was beyond him.

Ernie seemed to disagree as well, if for a different reason.

"I say," the Hufflepuff muttered, "you'd think he's taking us for complete dimwits, lecturing us like that…"

"Hmm," Harry mumbled absently.

He wasn't really listening. What he truly wanted to do was to get closer to Fay and Malfoy and listen in on their conversation.

"I'm going to take another knife," Harry informed the others.

"What's wrong with this one?" Ron wondered.

"It's… err… uncomfortable. I don't like its handle," Harry invented before anyone could question him further.

Trying to look innocuous, he walked towards the wall by the table where Fay and Malfoy were working.

Fay, he noticed, was scribbling something into her notebook, her expression very focused.

"Stop," she said to Malfoy, reaching out instinctively to catch his wrist. "Don't add _Colchicum autumnale _just yet."

"Really?" Malfoy scoffed. "And who are _you_ to boss me around? Slughorn may bow down to you Gryffindors all he wants, but I am certainly not taking your orders, thank you very much."

Fay sighed before fixing Malfoy with her characteristic sober and stern look.

"Look," she said, "judging from the bags under your eyes and the wrinkles on your shirt, you were obviously up all night. The fact that you're unfocused at the moment also testifies to your sleep deprivation. During breakfast, you craved starch- and sugar-rich foods, and it is well-known that your brain metabolises sugars at a slower rate when you aren't getting enough sleep. If you add _Colchicum autumnale _right now, the potion will boil over and Slughorn will come running, and then you will have some explanations to give. I'm sure you want to avoid this, since you've repeatedly failed to hand in your homework in time, and many teachers are already on your case."

Malfoy's cold grey eyes momentarily widened before he narrowed them suspiciously.

"That's a lot of information regarding my persona," he said. "Are you stalking me?"

"I hate to burst your bubble, Malfoy," Fay retorted, "but regardless of your influential background, the world doesn't revolve around you, and I have better things to do than _stalk _you. If you wonder how I understood that you were sleep-deprived, then I can assure you that I'm not the only one who has noticed. Many people have—just look around you."

"You know, Daphne told me something about a Gryffindor girl who's been stalking me. I wonder if that's you," Malfoy pressed on.

"See what I mean by _'sleep deprivation'_? Didn't you hear me when I said _many_ people had noticed your condition? It's really not difficult to see. But you are clearly so tired that you can't process even the simplest kind of information. Why don't you take a short nap? We're in the dungeons anyway, so your dorm is not far away," Fay snapped.

Malfoy smirked, somewhat amused.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, dear?" he mocked. "Aw, don't be shy now—you wouldn't be the first witch to fall for me. Pity that Slytherins don't date filth-loving Gryffindors... Speaking of which, no wonder you're single: not only are you a filth-lover, but you're also a weirdo—"

"Oh, you've noticed my relationship status?" Fay cut him off, flawlessly imitating his mocking tone. "I'm flattered, _darling_. But careful there—you are coming off as a stalker yourself, speaking to me in such an unbecoming manner."

At this, Malfoy's face twisted into something akin to a genuine smile.

"Look at that," he said. "And here I was expecting you to react in a thoroughly Gryffindorish fashion—sputtering and tossing around all our ingredients…"

"Really?" Fay asked in a positively _are-you-serious _tone. "I would have thought you'd know better by now. We are not defined by our Houses—it is merely a choice that was made during the Sorting. For all you know, I might as well have narrowly missed ending up in Slytherin."

"Unlikely," Harry heard Malfoy mutter, but he saw that the blond was now more alert and seeing Fay in a new light.

"Well, you never know, do you now?" the girl asked rhetorically. "Shall we go back to our potion?"

For a while, Malfoy didn't say anything. When he spoke again, it was to ask an assignment-related question.

"What should we add if not _Colchicum autumnale_?" he drawled.

"As you know,_ Colchicum autumnale,_also known as 'meadow saffron', is a very beautiful but highly poisonous plant," Fay explained in her usual manner. "It contains a substance called _colchicine_, which is what gives this plant its poisonous quality. We will have to add it, but it's better to do so at the end. Right now, we'd better squeeze the juice out if it and leave it be. I think the real question here is how to avoid Slughorn's attention. I suggest using _Allium ursinum_—it looks very similar, but it doesn't have the qualities of _Colchicum autumnale_. Slughorn will think it's a silly mistake, but we'll still get _Exceeds Expectations_."

"Fine," Malfoy agreed. "And how exactly do we tell these plants apart when they're chopped up and dried like that? They look almost identical."

"_Colchicum autumnale _has a little violet to it. Its pattern is slightly different, too..."

Fay had taken out her magnifying glass pendant and was showing the distinctive features of both plants to Malfoy when Harry noticed something.

Malfoy's gaze wasn't following the pattern of the petals. It was scrutinizing the girl herself. There was something very off about that look, and Harry's brief confusion dispelled, only to be replaced by an unpleasant jolt of realisation—Harry _knew_ that look. That look would occasionally appear on every boy's face.

Malfoy was checking her out!

This wasn't good.

"Harry, my boy, there you are!" Slughorn boomed, bringing Harry back to reality. "What are you doing there? Come here, I've got to talk to you."

"Sorry, Sir," Harry said quickly. "I was just looking for a... uh... a jar... to dissolve _Colchicum autumnale_ in. I think it's safer to add it later, or else the potion might boil over..."

"A brilliant solution," Slughorn admitted, clearly impressed. "Very few potioneers can foresee this danger. How did you understand that the reaction might be violent? Did you deduce it by carefully examining the list of the other ingredients, or did you take the effort to find out what exactly made the plant so poisonous?"

"Err... both, Sir," Harry lied, feeling somewhat guilty.

"Just like your mother—thorough and brilliant," Slughorn praised. "Now, I've been thinking… Christmas is approaching, and there is a little old tradition I observe. I used to host a little Christmas party and invite a few select students and their best friends to spend some marvellous time together just before the end of term. Miss Granger has already graciously agreed to come. Say, would you be game as well?"

Harry had been afraid something like this might come up. He knew better than to decline, though.

"Of course, Sir," he said, faking enthusiasm. "I'd be delighted to."

"Marvellous, marvellous… Well, hurry up now, my boy! Brilliant though you may be, this is a difficult potion. Oh, and do help out your friend, Wollenby..."

Harry's eyes automatically found Ron, who was sitting miserably in front of a cauldron filled with a muddy green liquid which smelled of rotten eggs and poop. Next to him, Hermione and Ernie looked like they were swallowing back vomit. Looking briefly back at the desk where Fay and Malfoy were working in apparent harmony didn't make him feel any better.

His heart heavy, he quietly went back to his cauldron, letting Slughorn fuss over another student.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

At a quarter before nine next morning, Harry cleared his throat for silence. The whole team had already gathered in the Quidditch tent.

"Right," Harry said. "This is it, boys."

"And girls," Demelza reminded him quickly, looking at Fay and Ginny, who were standing on either side of her.

"And girls, definitely," Harry agreed. "But it's Ritchie I was addressing. You aim very well, Ritch, which is why you will start a Bludger attack when we go out. Jimmy will follow your lead."

"Don't worry, I got it." Coote grinned, knowing what was required of him.

"Good," Harry said. "Once Ritchie and Jimmy get Slytherins busy, it will be up to you, ladies, to score. Ginny, our hope lies with you."

"Don't worry, Captain, I won't let you down." Ginny winked at him, grinning as well.

"I'm sure you won't, Gin," Harry smiled back. "Now, Fay and Demelza—"

Harry was about to give instructions to the other two Chasers when Ginny interrupted him.

"The weather conditions seem ideal," she said. "And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser, Vaisey—he took a Bludger in the head during their practice yesterday, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that—Malfoy's gone off sick, too!"

"What?" said Harry, looking up in surprise as his voice mixed with Fay's.

"Is he ill?"

"What's wrong with him?"

There was an awkward pause. Harry and Fay had rounded up on Ginny and then had looked at each other and hastily taken a step back, blushing.

The whole team stared at them.

"Well, I have no idea why he's sick, but it's great for us," Ginny said brightly, smoothing the situation, since everybody was doubtless starting to wonder why Harry and Fay had showed so much concern for Malfoy. "They're letting Harper play instead. He's in my year, and he's an idiot."

"Sure, it's good for us," Harry said, pulling himself together. "As I was saying, once Ritchie and Jimmy have Slytherins occupied, Ginny, Fay, and Demelza will try to score as much as possible. Remember that our strategy is an aggressive one this time —we will not wait for the Slytherin Beaters to terrorize our Chasers. We will cut off their access instead."

He continued explaining their strategy, making sure he wouldn't look at Fay any more. Inwardly, though, he wondered. Malfoy had claimed once before he could not play due to an injury, but on that occasion, he had made sure the whole match would be rescheduled for a date that suited Slytherins better. Why was he happy now to let a substitute take his place? Was he really ill, or was he faking? Was he planning a new attack? It was really fishy.

"Definitely weird," Harry muttered to himself as the team headed for the exit.

"What is?" Ron asked by his side.

"The fact that Malfoy decided not to play," Harry elaborated.

"Lucky, I call it," said Ron, looking slightly more animated. "And Vaisey is off, too. He's their best goal scorer—I didn't fancy meeting that dude," Ron finished, dismissing Harry's suspicions as usual.

It was at moments like this that Harry missed Fay most. Fay would have listened, he was sure… But he had learned to appreciate her only now that she didn't want anything to do with him.

"Listen, can I ask you something?" Ron asked suddenly, a note of outrage barely contained in his voice. "In your strategy—why did you put so much responsibility on the Beaters and the Chasers? Why not on me? Am I not good enough?"

"Ron, you definitely _are_ good enough," Harry assured him, though it wasn't completely true. Ron had an awful problem with nerves, which made it safer for them to rely on their Beaters and Chasers rather than hope that Ron would save the goals. "It's just better to use you as our secret weapon—here, drink this."

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"A refreshment—trust me, dehydration is not good when you're about to sweat so much—I've read up on it."

Harry knew that Ron needed some confidence, needed to believe in himself. And Harry knew how to help him with this.

"You are turning into Hermione with your sudden love of books," Ron grumbled. "First, you have this Potions book, and now you've also asked Creevey to get you a pile of Muggle literature. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Ron, I'm fine," Harry assured him. "Reading's not so ba—"

Before he could finish, two people rushed into the Quidditch tent: a cheerful-looking Lavender Brown and, right behind her, an angry Hermione, who, judging by her posture, had just tried to stop Lavender from entering.

"Cheer up, Ron!" called Lavender. "I know you'll be brilliant! I came down here to wish you good luck because I didn't see you at breakfast."

She had said it all in one breath and was now looking expectantly at Ron, who ignored her. Slowly, the girl's cheerful demeanour began to fade when she saw Ron's indifferent reaction.

Harry tried to salvage the situation at the same time following his plan. Carefully, he flashed the bottle of _Felix Felicis _in front of Hermione and made a show of pretending to hastily put it away. All the while his back was turned, so that Lavender wouldn't see any of this—just in case.

His little ruse seemed to have worked, because as soon as he addressed the girl, he was forcefully interrupted.

"So… Hermione, what are you—"

"Don't drink that, Ron!" Hermione cried out sharply, making them jump.

Everybody stared at her.

"Why not?" said Ron. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione was now staring at Harry as though she could not believe her eyes.

"You just put something in that drink. I saw it. "

"No, I didn't," Harry protested.

"Don't deny it, I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, stowing hastily the little bottle in his pocket.

"Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!" Hermione said again, alarmed, just as Lavender deadpanned, "Granger, you're paranoid. I was here, too, and _I_ certainly didn't see anything."

"_You _are stupid," Hermione said hysterically to Lavender.

"Excuse me?" Lavender yelled. "How dare you?! Only because I am not—"

But unexpectedly, Ron took the matter in his own hands. He picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, "In case you didn't notice, we have Quidditch business going on here. And stop bossing me around, Hermione."

Hermione looked scandalized. Harry reacted quickly.

"Lavender, if you'd please... I hate to ask you this, but..."

"I get it. I'm going," the blonde said, clearly offended, and left the tent without looking at any of them.

Hermione bent down so that only Harry could hear her as he put on his Quidditch boots, and hissed, "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"

"Look who's talking," he whispered back. "Confunded anyone lately? I know what you did to McLaggen at the try-outs."

Hermione gasped as if Harry had said something truly awful to her and, following Lavender's suit, quickly left the tent. Harry watched her go without regret. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was. He then looked around at Ron, who was smacking his lips.

"Ready, Ron?"

"Yeah, I… I… you…" Ron had dropped his voice; he looked both scared and excited. "My drink… my pumpkin juice… you didn't…"

Harry raised his eyebrows but said nothing except, "We'll be starting any moment now, you'd better put your boots on."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Quidditch stands were alive with roars and boos as the Gryffindor team marched onto the pitch. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold, the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides, too; amidst all the yelling and clapping, Harry could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's lion-topped hat. As always, Luna's choice of clothing was eccentric to say the least, yet Harry had a feeling that it had taken her quite a while to put the hat together and charm it in a way that would allow it to emit very realistic lion roars. At that moment, he truly appreciated it.

Madam Hooch, the referee, was standing nearby, ready to release the balls from the crate.

"Captains, shake hands," she said, and Harry had his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart.

"Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one..."

The whistle sounded, and both teams kicked off hard from the frozen ground.

Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch. At the other side of the pitch, a green-clad Harper did the same, though he kept a lower position. Then a voice, jarringly different to the usual commentator's, started up.

"Well, there they go. Gryffindors are in the air, and I think it's fair to say that we are all shocked by Potter's selection this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help..."

These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the stadium.

_Smith_, Harry thought angrily. Who was the idiot who had let him comment?

The Hufflepuff was far from finished, though.

"King Weasley is definitely not the only odd choice. One of the Gryffindor Chasers, Fay Dunbar—who, according to some, is Potter's new love interest—made it into the team even though there had been far better candidates to choose from."

Harry craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium.

_What if he just collided with Smith's post? Smith would be knocked unconscious, and it all would look like an accident..._

But there was no time.

"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal. Urquhart successfully avoids the Bludgers sent by the Gryffindor Beaters, he's streaking down the pitch and—"

Harry held his breath.

"—Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose... As I was saying, Potter's choice definitely raises some questions, but it wouldn't be the first time Gryffindors got away with rule-breaking and a blatant corruption. Potter's fame helps there, I guess."

Slytherins were absolutely delighted with Smith's speech, judging by the applause he was receiving.

"Wait, something's happening! Fairy's belting along up there... a pass to Ginny Weasley—a far better player, even if she, too, got her position only for being Potter's best friend's sister; and so, ladies and gentlemen, we can already count three people who shouldn't be on the team… Back to Dunbar—oh—she loses the Quaffle to Slytherin Zabini. Blaise Zabini from Slytherin gains the Quaffle, and off he goes—he holds… YES, BLAISE ZABINI FROM SLYTHERIN HOLDS THE QUAFFLE—did you hear that? Some applause for Zabini, come on! He's going to sc—saved by Weasley... This can only be explained by luck, really—no skill there. Ginny Weasley in possession of the Quaffle again, a clear field ahead… Where are Slytherins? She dodges the Bludger sent by Crabbe from Slytherin… goal posts ahead… and—what's with Harper—Harper, the Seeker, seems to block—no—Gryffindor scores."

Gryffindor's cheers filled the cold air, accompanied by howls and moans from Slytherins. Everybody noticed that it was with a great sorrow that Smith announced the Gryffindor goal, as if it physically hurt him to admit what he'd just seen.

Parvati and Lavender, who were watching the game from the stands, exchanged a knowing look.

"You know, I think Smith was chosen on purpose by someone who truly hates Potter," Parvati said.

While she still couldn't forgive Potter for his indifference during the ball, her loyalty to Gryffindor overweighed her personal feelings towards the current Captain.

"What is it, Lav? You are hardly watching."

"He didn't even acknowledge me," the blonde said miserably, not looking up. "He only had eyes for Granger..."

Parvati could imagine what had happened, but it wasn't the right place to talk about it.

"Don't worry," she said firmly. "It was probably the nerves. Look, he's managed to save all the goals thus far. Isn't it good news?"

"I suppose," Lavender admitted. "Anyway, I shouldn't be complaining: Potter is doing much worse. I don't know how he can stand it—I'd have flown all the way up to the commentator's post and hit Smith in the—_oooooohhhh_, look, what's this?"

Ginny Weasley had flown up to the stands and had leaned over her broom to put her arms around Dean Thomas's neck and give him a long kiss.

This move disoriented everyone, and Gryffindor scored again while Smith had directed everybody's attention to Ginny's daring move.

With half an hour of the second round gone, Gryffindor were leading seventy points to zero, Chasers having scored some truly spectacular goals. Ginny, in particular, had scored six out of Gryffindor's seven goals. Ron, too, had made some amazing saves. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because they were Harry's friends, so he started on the kissing episode instead.

Game-wise, though, it seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes acted according to the plan and kept up a brilliant front line, never giving Slytherins a chance of gaining access to the Gryffindor box. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease. He was actually smiling now. Lavender Brown produced smoke from the tip of her wand, which read _Ron the Keeper King._

"If not scandals, then at least theatrics, eh?" said a snide voice, and Harry ducked to avoid a collision with Harper. "Your blood-traitor pals sank really low this time, Potter, but it won't save you..."

Smith, meanwhile, continued commenting through his megaphone. "Finally, Harper from Slytherin has seen something… Thank Merlin! I doubt we could have survived another cheap and disgusting emotional display from Gryffindor…"

Smith really was an idiot, thought Harry, hadn't he noticed them nearly collide? But next moment, he made a truly horrific discovery—Smith was right: Harper had not sped upward at random; he had spotted what Harry had not: the Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue sky.

Harry accelerated; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of Smith's commentary or the crowd, but Harper was still ahead of him. Fay, who had been soaring in the air beneath them, seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and this time, a collision could not be avoided.

What Harry heard and felt next was a scream of pain, the sound of a cracking bone, more pain, someone yelling, something hitting him hard in the back of his head, and something feathery yet metallic against his knuckles—the sneaky Snitch had finally been caught.

* * *

**An**: Alright, a quick update and a shorter chapter, which will be followed by a longer and more profound chapter in which I will touch upon some feelings that, I think, are something that need to be explained.

A big "thank you" to my lovely beta **Tarpeia**.

P.S. I'm not making Hermione an antagonist. She'll get a bit more screen time in the future.


	10. Chapter 10: Promises

When Harry came around, he was still lying on the field, and someone was leaning over him. His head hurt like it had been split in two.

"Hermi—ouch… What happened?"

"Goyle sent a Bludger your way just as the three of you collided," Hermione informed him, helping him up. "But it's all right—you caught the Snitch."

Harry looked around him. The golden ball was firmly trapped in his fist, its wings fluttering feebly as it tried to break free. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over Harper, who was moaning like a severely wounded animal, even though there wasn't a single scratch on him.

"Where's Fay?" he asked, starting to feel panicked.

"She's already been carried away—a broken arm or something… Listen, Harry, we really need to talk. I'd have never believed such a thing of you—"

"Mr Potter, are you all right? Come to the hospital wing. You appear fine, but who knows," the matron called, briefly interrupting his conversation with Hermione.

"I'm fine, I'll be there in a moment," Harry promised to Madam Pomfrey while she levitated Harper's stretcher out of sight, muttering angrily to herself about the dangers of extreme sports.

He turned back to Hermione.

"Hermione, look," he said, showing her the little golden bottle, which had miraculously survived the impact of the collision. "I didn't put it in; it's full."

"HARRY," a jubilant new voice cried out, "I can't believe we did it! We beat Slytherins! Mate, you've got to come up right now, we're celebrating. And _I_ saved every single goal, did you see that?"

Ron was literally over the moon, so it took him a while to register Harry and Hermione's sombre faces.

"What's wrong, guys?" he asked. "Why so serious? Are you badly injured or something, Harry? Hey, what's with Felix Felicis, did you really—_Harry_?"

"No, Ron," Harry said hastily, making sure there wasn't anyone standing close enough to overhear their conversation. "Look, I just pretended to put it in—I didn't really do it. You see, I wanted you to think I'd done it so that you'd feel confident; but in fact, you saved those goals all by yourself. So it's all right, really, Hermione; we didn't break any rules. Now I just have to make sure Fay's all—"

Harry was fussing with the golden bottle, which was still tightly sealed with wax, when he was suddenly interrupted by an angry Ron, who obviously didn't want to hear the rest of his explanation.

"See, Hermione? I can save goals without help!" The boy's good mood had evaporated in seconds.

"Ron, I never said you couldn't play well, but it just looked like—"

"Oh, please, you've never thought much of me, have you now? As far as you're concerned, I can't do _anything_ right. Well, I'm sick of it."

"That's not true, Ron! I've always thought you very capable…," Hermione started to explain, blinking away tears.

"Save it," Ron said brusquely and walked away, his broomstick tossed over his shoulder.

Harry and Hermione were left to stare after him.

"Hermione?" Harry asked carefully, unsure what to say to the upset girl.

He really hadn't expected Ron to react the way he had reacted.

"Don't," Hermione warned. "Go ahead and celebrate with the rest of them if you're not injured; it's what you want anyway."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said feebly. "I never thought—"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to have done to you, boys. All I ever did was try to be a good friend, but apparently, I'm doing a bad job of it, since you two hate me so much."

"We don't hate you, Hermione—"

"You run off with this Fairy whenever I try to talk to you, and Ron snaps and yells at me all the time. Just leave me alone, both of you!"

And before Harry could stop her, she ran away, now crying in earnest. Demelza, who must have witnessed the last part of the row, carefully approached Harry.

"Err… excuse me, Captain, I just want to inform you that everybody's already gone to celebrate and that Ginny's detention has been postponed, so if you want to join us…"

"Ginny's got detention?" Harry asked sharply. "Why?"

"She… err… flew right into the commentator's post and knocked down Zacharias Smith. Professor Snape made sure she was held responsible for the incident. Smith has been taken to the hospital wing; he's got a concussion, I think…"

"All right, thanks for telling me," Harry said absently.

"So are you coming then?" Demelza asked again uncertainly.

It was obvious that she felt awkward asking him to join the party after what she'd just seen but had thought she should do it anyway.

"Sure, sure. I just need to stop by the hospital wing… I'll be right up."

Demelza gave him a small smile and left for the dressing rooms.

Harry, meanwhile, hardly even knew what to do with himself. He didn't really want to go to the hospital wing at the moment. He knew that if he went there immediately, he wouldn't be able to talk to Fay anyway, since Madam Pomfrey was in the habit of occupying all her patients, not letting them near each other.

As his feet carried him automatically towards the castle, many people from the crowd shouted their congratulations at him, but all he felt was a great sense of let-down. He had been sure that if Ron won the match, the three of them would be friends again, but it had not gone that way at all. It was as if their friendship could not be mended. This gave him a terrible hollow feeling—he seemed to have been losing, one by one, all the people who had become close to him. First, it had been Sirius, then Fay, and now his two best friends. Frankly, Harry didn't know if he could cope with so much pressure any more.

When he finally reached Gryffindor Tower, he was greeted by renewed cheers and claps. A mob of people almost swept him off his feet in their haste to congratulate him. What was worse, Romilda Vane had somehow found a way to cling onto his arm like a crocodile onto its prey. It took him some time to shake her off—in the end, he had to promise her he'd consider taking her to Slughorn's party as his plus-one.

The real blows were yet to come, though.

Just as he reached a table covered with drinks, his gaze fell on Dean and Ginny—locked in a passionate embrace and kissing so intensely that their lives could have depended on it.

It was as though a volcano had erupted in Harry's stomach.

He was just so _angry_… He wanted to curse Dean into jelly, then and there.

He couldn't take it. The Quidditch match kiss had been more than enough.

Ever since he had got to really know Ginny, he had been trying to get closer to her. She was smart, beautiful, and vibrant— for Merlin's sake, she was the best flier he had ever encountered. But the more he tried to get close to her, the more she would torture him. She would respond with a quick teasing remark and that maddeningly cocky yet adorable laughter of hers, only to rush into Dean's arms a second later.

Instinctively, he made his way to the couple, fully intent on doing something thoroughly impulsive and stupid when Ron's voice brought him to his senses.

"Oi!" Ron yelled. "Knock it off, you two—have some respect towards my sister, you stinking cockroach."

"Ron!" Ginny yelled, scandalized, while Dean's eyes had grown wide at the insult.

"Hey, hey, lay off my friend, Weasel!" Seamus yelled from somewhere nearby. "And stop ruining a good party."

Harry took a deep breath, feeling immensely grateful to Ron—if it hadn't been for Ron, he would have succumbed to his emotions and would have made a complete moron of himself.

Quickly, he poured himself a random drink and emptied his glass in a single gulp.

Dean, meanwhile, seemed to have pulled himself together.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I wasn't disrespecting Ginny in any way. If our presence bothers you…"

"Oh, shut up, Dean!" Ginny commanded. "This is between my stupid brother and me. So tell me, Ron, what is it that bothers you so much about me kissing my boyfriend, eh? That's what people do when they date: they kiss."

"I don't want you going around and snogging people all over the place; it's—"

"Right," said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at her brother. "Let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business how I spend my time with my boyfriend, Ron—"

"Yeah, it is!" said Ron angrily. "D'you think I want people saying my sister's a —"

"A what?" shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. "A what, exactly?"

"You heard Smith's commentary, and he's not the only one who's been implying that you're behaving like some—"

"Ron," Harry said warningly, "don't."

The common room was still full of celebrating people, so there was a lot of noise, but Harry could very well see that the scandal between the two siblings had already raised attention. Now that he could control his feelings once again, the rational part of him was telling him to act quickly before it was too late.

Unfortunately, Ron and Ginny were only getting started.

"Don't defend him, Harry," Ginny snapped. "He's just a jealous, stupid git who's never been snogged in his whole life unless you count those _sweet _kisses our Auntie Muriel used to give him—are those the best kisses you've ever got, Ron?"

Those who were standing nearby, including McLaggen, started to laugh at Ron's expense.

"Seriously, Weasley, nobody's ever snogged you?!" the wire-haired youth jeered obnoxiously. "Merlin, I haven't laughed like this since… never mind. GATHER AROUND, PEOPLE, THE ACTION'S OVER HERE!"

Ron was thoroughly humiliated, but he could only concentrate on Ginny.

"Shut your mouth!" he bellowed at his sister, bypassing red and turning maroon.

"I will not!" Ginny bellowed just as forcefully, which only intensified the jeering laughter of the audience. "What is it? Does the truth hurt? I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her—it's pathetic!"

"Ginny," Dean said off to her side, "stop it, that's really not neces—"

He appeared shocked—mortified even—yet Ginny wouldn't let him get a single word into the argument.

"Don't meddle, Dean," she snapped at her stony-faced boyfriend. "And as for you, Ron: only because nobody will snog you—"

"Only because I don't do it in public—," Ron yelled but was immediately cut off by Ginny's jeering and hysterical laughter, combined with the gasps and the chuckles of the rest of Gryffindors.

"Oh, really? Do you have Auntie Muriel's picture under your pillow?"

Ron now had his wand out. "Listen—"

"Actually, Ron and I are dating!" yelled a new loud voice, making everyone turn in unison.

Harry spun around, too, and he was shocked to see an angry-looking Lavender Brown staring accusingly at Ginny. She appeared confident, but now that there were so many people staring at her, her self-assured stance seemed to be melting away.

Parvati Patil, her best friend, was instantly at her side, giving her an encouraging nod.

The girls looked at each other as if communicating silently, and then Lavender stepped forward and announced, "There is nothing interesting to see here, so stop staring. And as to you, Ginevra, stop making a clown of yourself. Ron, are you coming?"

Ron had been standing there, his mouth open, his eyes full of questions.

Harry was the first to react: he nudged Ron, urging him to act along, but making sure he didn't look like Lavender's bailout.

"Yeah... yeah, I... sure, Lavender, let's... uh... get some drinks and... uh... stop staring people," Ron stuttered. "And you—"

Ron was about to turn to a red-faced Ginny, but fortunately, Lavender interrupted him.

"Never mind that now, Ron—let's go!"

As Ron walked over towards their blonde classmate, people started to dissipate in different directions. Everybody was discussing excitedly the_ Weasley Siblings Snogging Battle_.

As far as Harry was concerned, though, he was feeling more like an outsider at this party. Ron had gone away with Lavender, and Hermione wasn't anywhere to be seen. Harry suspected she had barricaded herself in some lonely, faraway place in the castle. Frankly, he had no idea where he should look for her. His head hurt a lot as well—the drink he had had earlier hadn't done him any good.

"Take it from me, Potter," spoke the Indian girl with the long thick hair, taking him by surprise. "Go to the hospital wing, you don't look good."

Despite the girl's dismissive look, it was good advice. Nodding in Parvati's direction, he quickly made his exit before Romilda could get anywhere near to harassing him again. It was time to visit the hospital wing after all, much sooner than he had hoped.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The hospital wing was very quiet, cosily dark and very cool. Too cool, even—almost cold.

The freezing temperature was the reason Fay had been forced to finally wake up.

It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the surrounding darkness.

She tried to move her fingers and was relieved to feel that she could move them just fine. In fact, she felt absolutely healthy—nothing hurt, as if the accident had never occurred. Once her sleepy mind slowly recalled the game, though, she understood that she had never found out how it had ended and whether Gryffindor had won. The only thing she clearly remembered was the fact that there had been two more people involved in the collision: Harper from Slytherin and Harry.

Curious to find out more, the girl tried to get up, but when she sat up, she had to quickly cover her mouth to suppress her gasp.

Someone was sleeping on the floor right next to her bed!

"Harry," she whispered cautiously, shaking the sleeping boy.

Harry woke up immediately.

"S-s-sorry," he muttered, embarrassed. "Must have dozed off..."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came here for a check-up after the match and asked Madam Pomfrey if you were all right. She told me you had been given the Dreamless Sleep Potion... Anyway, I thought I'd wait for you to wake up, but... err, it was late...We won, by the way."

"That's good," Fay commented absently after Harry had finished his awkward monologue.

There was a moment of awkward silence. In fact, the teens didn't even dare to look each other in the eye.

When they did speak, however, they did so simultaneously.

"Listen, Fay—"

"What are you doing here?"

Harry sighed. "I wanted to make sure you were all right…"

"It's admirable that you take your Captain duties so seriously," Fay retorted frostily.

"Are you being sarcastic?" Harry asked uncertainly.

There was something in Fay's tone that he never heard before, and it bothered him.

"Yes, I am," she admitted. "Because if you'd only wanted to know what was wrong with my arm, you'd have asked Madam Pomfrey. But you stayed—you even waited for me to wake up, so you obviously needed to talk to me. Speak up."

She stared at him, accusing and commanding. It was difficult to hold her gaze, but Harry had no intention of giving in.

"I'm sorry, Fay," he said honestly. "I'm really sorry about what I said to you. I wish I hadn't. I wish I could just take it back… I honestly didn't mean—"

"Then why did you say it?" Fay asked, sounding a little softer now.

"I… look, it's just….."

But he didn't really know how to explain it; it was all so complicated. Both Hermione and Dumbledore had made him feel really guilty, and all sorts of doubts had come to dominate him. What if he was using the Malfoy case as some sort of distraction? What if all he did was actually try to escape his feeling of guilt? After all, it was his fault that Sirius…

Fay noticed his hesitation, and the sharp edge to her voice returned with full force.

"You know, Harry, you shouldn't have stayed here tonight; clearly, you're not ready to talk, and maybe it's for the best—"

"No," he protested at once, "I need to explain. It's just… I don't know how to begin."

"All right," Fay conceded, heaving a sigh. "Let's start with that evening in Myrtle's bathroom. You seemed to be very upset when you returned. What upset you so much?"

"Look, when I first arrived to Hogwarts, it was… it was _magical_. I never thought I'd be able to be in such a place… I mean, it's so different from my aunt and uncle's…" Harry paused, realising that he was digressing.

This surely wasn't a good way to explain anything to Fay, but to his surprise, the girl encouraged him with a quiet _go on. _

"Ron and Hermione were my friends from the beginning. We would always stick together; you wouldn't believe what we've been through. And they've always been there for me…"

"Harry," Fay interrupted, "I am not oblivious to the fact that your best friends don't like me. If they are the reason you don't want to continue with our mission, it's all right—you don't have to. It does hurt me a bit, of course, but I'll just continue the mission by myself, and I promise I won't hold any grudges. I know it's tough to have no friends—"

"That's not it," Harry interrupted. "I mean, it is. It's just… they've always been there for me. And then I met my godfather. He… he offered me to move in with him, but then he had to run for it. Last year, he was murdered…"

His voice faded away. As he closed his eyes, he could clearly see Sirius falling through the Veil, and his ears were once again filled with the ghostly cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," he went on, not looking at Fay any more. "The thing is… there's now only Ron and Hermione, just like before… and I just don't know—"

He stopped talking when he felt Fay's hand on his shoulder. Unnoticed to him, she had moved much closer, and their shoulders now almost touched when she sat next to him.

"Say no more," she whispered. "I think I understand now."

"You do?" he asked.

"I think so. Ron and Hermione are very close to you—almost like family—and their opinion is really important to you, especially now. And now that I'm involved as well, they must see me as an intruder…I should have realised…Listen, Harry, if you think it's better to leave the Malfoy case to someone else, it's all right. I promise I will do everything I can, and I'll keep you informed if you want—"

"But I'm not sure this is what I want," Harry objected. "I don't think I can leave it like this… I'm confused. Everything seems to go wrong when I do it—"

"That's not true," Fay protested. "If you mean all those mistakes we made, then we made them together, but that's how we learn—"

"No, that's not it," Harry answered honestly.

"Then what?"

Harry finally looked her in the eyes and saw that she was being very earnest. Still, he hadn't known her very long and couldn't tell whether she would even understand.

She saw his hesitation.

"Is it something you can't tell me?" she asked.

"Harper and Smith are sleeping nearby," he muttered.

"True," Fay admitted. "But we can cast the Imperturbable Charm around us."

"I don't know, Fay," he said. "It's difficult to explain…"

"It's all right, you don't have to…"

But as she drew away from him, he found that he really wanted to tell somebody. Right now, there wasn't anyone else he could talk to. Without thinking twice, he cast Muffliato in the direction of Harper and Smith, so that they couldn't overhear.

"I don't know why it hurts so much," he confessed at last, once the spell was in place. "I knew him only for a year… We spent only one Christmas together, but—"

"It hurts so much because you keep thinking about everything that could have been if your godfather was still around—the relationship you could have had…"

Harry noticed that Fay's voice trembled as she spoke.

"You really understand," he realised, looking at her carefully. "Did someone you knew…"

"My dad," she answered. "He's an Auror. When I was nine, he was assigned a case, which led him to Albania. He never returned. The Auror Office wouldn't send anyone after him until it was too late. There were signs of a struggle in the little house he had been renting, but no leads as to where he could be. Eventually, it became a cold case… I used to think that I shouldn't have let him go."

Harry didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to because Fay rushed on.

"Anyway," she said, "it used to torment me so much. I kept thinking about it… and then somehow I started wondering how different my life would be if he still was around. He had promised to teach me everything related to the Auror career. Sometimes I would speak out loud, pretending that my dad was there with me… This is how the rumours started, I guess…"

"When we first met, you said you'd always wanted to be an Auror," Harry recalled, thinking back on the way her gaze had turned gentle and faraway in that compartment of Hogwarts Express.

"It's true," Fay assured him. "And in the end, this is what helped me find an anchor and become focused."

"How so?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"You see, Harry, I've _always_ wanted to be an Auror—long before my dad went on that mission—and it was something I couldn't forget. There was a time when even my mother was worried, thinking that my passion for the Auror work was nothing but a way to disguise my pain. But I wouldn't be swayed, and as long as I knew what I wanted, nobody could make me doubt myself."

Quickly, Fay wiped at her eyes and turned to look at Harry, her eyes shining once again with intense determination.

"This is what you should ask yourself as well, Harry," she said. "If your godfather were still with you, would you want to become an Auror nonetheless? Is the Auror career the thing you really want or is there something you desire even more? What do you want? What would make you happy?"

Harry stared at her. Nobody had ever asked him such a question. It was a simple question, but when Harry really thought about it, there wasn't a single person who had ever genuinely asked him about his interests. Certainly not the Dursleys, for his relatives had always treated him much like many wizards treated their house-elves. When he started attending Hogwarts, it had been his duty to hold off Voldemort, who had been targeting him every year. He really could not recall a single occasion on which his desires and preferences would be taken into account. It was refreshing to hear such a question, and it definitely felt nice.

"But what made you so sure it was the Auror work itself that kept you focused?" Harry asked despite himself.

"Well, it's gratifying," Fay answered thoughtfully. "You know, it feels so good when I'm able to help someone—I feel happy myself. I don't know how to explain it, but when Ravenclaws took Luna's scarf, I was the one who retrieved it, and she was so happy to have it back that it was contagious… This was when I truly understood that I'd never tried to disguise my pain with my passion for the Auror work; this was what I _wanted_ to do."

She smiled fondly at the memory; but Harry had more questions to ask her.

"Do you know who takes Luna's stuff all the time?" he asked. "Because it's really unfair…"

"It is," Fay agreed vehemently, her eyebrows furrowed. "It's all this Ravenclaw competitiveness… I hate it! It's the general attitude that is the problem. There are some really horrible girls like Marietta and Livia, who actively bully Luna; but it's the general dismissive attitude that causes most damage. Luna isn't… ah… very popular because of her eccentric world views, so people either think it's fun to pick on her, or they don't really care. Nobody really knows how tough it is for her."

"Is there anything we can do about it?" Harry inquired, remembering only too well the times when he had found himself in a similar situation.

"Do you want to do something about it?" Fay asked, looking at him.

"Of course," he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, it's unfair towards Luna—"

"What I meant to ask is whether you _desired_ to help or if it was something more of an obligation for you—there is a difference."

"Fay, I want to look into this. When I investigate something, when I make a difference—"

Harry paused, having realised something.

"I see what you mean," he said. "I've always been curious about stuff and… you know what, Fay? I think I want to continue with our mission. I think it's important to keep an eye on Malfoy. I always did."

"I couldn't agree more," Fay assured him. "What are we going to do about your friends and Ginny, though?"

"What about them?" Harry asked.

"Well, they're important to you, and I would feel very bad if I weakened your friendship. We'll have to find a way to win them back," Fay explained. "As to Ginny—well, she obviously likes you, and you like her, so…"

"Ginny likes me?" he echoed, now truly surprised. "What gives you that idea? I mean, she's with Dean."

"Harry, you've grown somewhat inattentive; just look at her behaviour around you. She flirts with you, calls for attention whenever you're around, and then rushes back to Dean—it's a classical scheme to make a boy jealous."

"Really?" Harry asked, hardly daring to believe it. "Are you sure? I mean… yeah… It's true. A few hours ago, I wanted to curse Dean into jelly …"

"Is that a smile I detect?" Fay asked playfully. "It's all right to feel flattered if someone we are romantically interested in returns our interest. And, yes, I'm absolutely certain my observations are correct: Ginny Weasley likes you. Now we only need to think of a way to allow the two of you to communicate."

"You know, Fay, this reminds me of the detective series that my cousin Dudley used to watch on the TV. I used to clean his room, so I would glimpse some episodes, too… Anyway, these are the Muggle entertainment series where a couple or a group of investigators uncovers some crime. The thing is that these shows also contain some comical elements, and the detectives who investigate a case always have each other's back…"

"What are you saying, Harry? That we are like these Muggle entertainment investigators?"

"Well, sort of… I mean, we have a case and… err, we have each other's back, right?"

"That's fine with me," Fay assured him. "Just promise me one thing: if something like this happens again, if someone says something discouraging and makes you doubt, tell me, all right? Don't just snap at me, but explain what happened, because you really hurt me, Harry…"

"I'm sorry," Harry said again. "I promise I won't behave this way any more."

"Good." Fay sighed. "And I promise to help you uncover this Malfoy business."

"And I promise to look into Luna's case as well," Harry continued.

"Great," Fay agreed enthusiastically, nudging him a little. "I happen to have a few ideas as to what to do about those Ravenclaws, but I sort of need my fellow investigator's help…"

The teens smiled at each other, enjoying each other's company for the first time in weeks.

Not too far from where they sat, the Fat Friar was floating in the air, his heart alight with happiness. He couldn't but feel overjoyed at the fact that the two Gryffindors had reconciled. He was the one who had witnessed their agreement of collaboration, and it pleased him to see their progress.

During his life, he had been a part of the clergy, but he had soon learned that the religious community was far from the haven he had expected it to be. Gradually, the Muggles, who, in those times, knew magic to be real, had grown suspicious of his ability to cure maladies by poking the local Muggle peasants with a stick. His love for food hadn't helped, and he had been promptly accused of gluttony—one of the seven deadly sins—and sent to his death. It had taken him four centuries to overcome his bitterness towards the ungrateful human nature. And yet, as time would pass, the Fat Friar had understood something: kindness would always prevail.

Perhaps this was the reason he felt so compelled to follow these two Gryffindor teens: they, too, were kind at heart.

It was only lucky that the hospital wing was so cold; the teens could never have spotted him as he hovered over them, invisible to human eyes.

He simply couldn't wait to inform Headmaster Dumbledore of the good news he'd just heard.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Down in the dungeons, Draco Malfoy was exhausted. His muscles ached, he was dead-tired, and yet sleep wouldn't come.

He didn't want to take another Dreamless Sleep Potion, for he knew that long-term consumption was ill-advised. Instead, he used this time to think.

There was something very fishy going on, and the more he thought about it, the more it troubled him.

Already at the beginning of October, he had overheard Daphne teasing Pansy about some Gryffindor girl who would frequently stare at him. Daphne had then cockily suggested that the reason Pansy's relationship with Draco wasn't going well was perhaps due to the fact that Draco returned that Gryffindor girl's interest. He hadn't thought much of it back then.

Daphne and Pansy would never tire of throwing jabs at each other despite being friends, he knew that. In fact, anything concerning the worthless house of Gryffindor was beneath him. He had far greater plans, a greater outlook on life… The Dark Lord would soon take over, and his family would be restored to its former glory.

He sighed and changed his position in the almost pitch-dark room. Only the silver snake ornaments were glinting faintly down here. They didn't reflect light, no—there was no light in here at night—they had been merely charmed this way. Briefly, Draco wondered whether the myth about Salazar's secret library was true, for these snake ornaments looked alive: they seemed to be glinting, moving and even breathing, their emerald gaze penetrating his every fibre as if silently communicating with him.

Something had happened the day he had ordered Rosmerta to put the Imperius Curse on some Gryffindor student who would take the cursed necklace to the old coot.

It had been a desperate move, true, but what else could he have done? Repairing the Vanishing Cabinet wasn't an easy task, and it was taking him longer than he had anticipated. Selwyn had been sent to Hogwarts to check on him, to intimidate him. His mother had warned him of the jealousy the rest of the Death Eaters felt towards the Malfoys. She had warned him that everybody would expect him to fail. She had foreseen their methods of psychological pressure long before he had even considered them a threat. And this was not all that bothered him.

The day he had given Rosmerta the order to act, someone had entered his dormitory. He was positive.

Theo had sworn someone had been impersonating Blaise Zabini, since the real Blaise hadn't been anywhere near the dormitory. Theo had also mentioned Pansy entering the dormitory that day as well, but when Draco had asked her to confirm Theo's words, she had appeared to be utterly surprised.

Draco had known Pansy long enough to be able to tell when she was or wasn't lying or merely pretending. Besides, Pansy had held an entire monologue on how she had spent hours waiting for that airhead Daphne in the Three Broomsticks while the blonde had actually been hiding in Dominic Maestro's this entire time… But if both Theo and Pansy had told him the truth, _who_ was the person that had accompanied the fake Blaise to his dormitory on that day?

Maybe there hadn't been only one but two impostors …

Certainly, only one person at Hogwarts was interfering, obnoxious, and stupid enough to venture into this part of the castle: saint Potter. He must have been the one impersonating Blaise.

But then, who was his accomplice? Who had impersonated Pansy? The bucktoothed Mudblood Granger?

He had really thought so… until doubt had started creeping in.

Draco's hand touched something leathery. An old tome proudly signed _'est apartenant à Nicolas Malefoy'._

The tome had been left at the exact place where he had left it, and yet he was certain someone had touched it.

In the end, he didn't know what to make of his suspicions. The impostors hadn't gathered any information on him, if that was what they had been looking for. If anything, they had only caused him to become more cautious. Now he knew that besides the jealous Death Eaters—such as this Selwyn—who were deliberately sent to intimidate him, there was someone else to look out for. He just wasn't sure who…

Or was he?

His Potions partner was rather interesting.

Fay Dunbar. Her nosy way of being had bothered him at first, but at the same time, there was also something captivating about her, so he had done his research.

She was a pure-blood like him, albeit not from a family as ancient and respectful as his. Her father had been an Auror, and her mother was the owner of a profitable herb shop. From what he had gathered, her father had disappeared while on a mission, but due to some formalities, he had never really been declared dead. Such details didn't interest him. What truly interested him was the side she was on in this war and whether she could really be so stupid as to ally herself with Potter—a loser whose days were as good as counted. Surely, she had to be more pragmatic than that… But then again, she was a Gryffindor.

As he thought of her in the heat of his room, he had to admit that she wasn't exactly bad-looking…

He would pay her a visit during the upcoming Christmas break, he decided.

* * *

**An**: Christmas break up next, I think. And like always my fiction Christmas never takes place during Christmas...

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and since it opens up several other arcs, interesting things are yet to come now that our dinky Aurors worked out their differences. It was really important for me to explore how Harry might have been feeling at this point. After all, not a lot of time passed from Sirius's death and it's only understandable that there's a lot of veiled grief.

Big thanks to my beta **Tarpeia **as always.

E una cosa che volevo chiedere: chi sei, misterioso lettore italiano? Hai cliccato sulla mia storia almeno cinquanta volte, ma non lasci mai nessun review, sono proprio curiosa :)


	11. Chapter 11: A Sweet Taste of Chill

A fine sheen of sugary frost covered everything in sight. Snow flurries swirled around people's legs like house cats before falling gently to the ground to form soft white heaps. Harry took a deep breath. If he could eat the cold air, he would, for the snaps of wind carried the delightful aroma of chocolate cookies with their cool, brittle vanilla icing.

Christmas was approaching fast. The Burrow was shining with glittering decorations. Hogwarts had been rather spectacular, too, but Harry was glad he'd left for the Burrow. The awkwardness of the last two weeks of the term had been simply too difficult to handle.

The corridors of Hogwarts had been graciously decorated with numerous mistletoes, much to the delight of Ron and Lavender, who seemed to have become inseparable. In fact, wherever Harry went lately, he only seemed to walk in on those two snogging, he thought.

Snogging was all Ron and Lavender ever did—they didn't talk or even pause to breath.

When Harry dared mention Hermione, Ron would simply shrug it off.

"_I haven't done anything wrong,"_ he would say to Harry, _"I'm simply tired of her bossing me around. She can do whatever she wants, and I will do what I want. It's a free country. Besides, Ginny reckons she's snogged Krum."_

Hermione, on her part, had been avoiding them until the last day of the term, and by the time Harry and Ron had boarded the Hogwarts Express to return to the Burrow, she hadn't even come to wish them a merry Christmas.

Harry understood. He himself had been busy avoiding Dean and Ginny. It was a blessing that Dean hadn't come to the Burrow with them. This way, perhaps, Ginny would notice him, Harry. If Fay was right, there was some hope.

"So, are Fred and George coming home for Christmas?" Harry asked Ron to have something else to talk about as they were sitting by the window in a tattered guest room.

"Dunno, I guess so. They're really busy with their shop," Ron answered absently. "I know Charlie isn't coming, though, which leaves you, me, and Ginny. We'll be sharing the attic."

Harry nodded.

"And Percy?"

"Still not showing his nose—the prat," Ron muttered darkly. "Say, Harry, what's up with you? I mean, you could have taken any girl to that party, and you took Loony. I mean, she's not ugly or anything, but still, she's… ya'know, Loony. And since you've been hanging out with Fairy lately..."

"Ron," Harry said tiredly, "it was just a stupid party; nothing happened, and Luna's great—she was the highlight of the party."

"I can imagine," Ron snorted. "Did she tell Slughorn he was full of wackbutts?"

"_Wackbutts_?" Harry snickered. "You know, Ron, you're actually getting better at naming Luna's creatures."

"Whatever, that's not the point," Ron argued. "I mean, you've been seen with Loony and Fairy a lot. People talk, you know."

It was Harry's turn to sigh.

"Listen, Ron," he said firmly, "if you don't stop bringing this up, I will start talking about Herm—"

"Fine, you've made your point," Ron shrugged. "Want to play chess?"

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"At least, you're not obsessed with your Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory."

Harry didn't comment on this. Ron didn't know the half of it. Their mission with Fay had gained a new force.

"Say, what do you think of McLaggen?" Ron asked despite himself after a while. "I mean, he seemed to be really into Hermione until lately, but then he just cancelled on her and took some fourth year to the party instead."

"McLaggen's a nasty piece of work," Harry informed Ron. "I did some asking around, and it turns out that he's only out for popularity—he ditches people overnight when they're not needed any more and finds new victims to annoy. Just ask George how McLaggen would harass Angelina when she was still at Hogwarts. The girl he took to this latest party is the niece of the band player Merton Graves, or so I've heard."

"Really? Merton Graves from the Weird Sisters? This McLaggen should have been in Slytherin. What is he doing in Gryffindor anyway?" Ron reasoned, grimacing.

"Fay and I think that the only reason he wasn't sorted in Slytherin is because he's too direct. Can't hide his bravado, doesn't possess an ounce of cunning."

"You and Fairy discuss a lot," Ron commented.

"Yeah, we do," Harry admitted. "It's interesting, you know, that we spend so much time surrounded by incredible things, yet we never sort of bother to find out more."

"What's there to find out anyway?" Ron asked, helping himself to the last of Mrs Weasley's home-made pastries. "Close the window, will you? It's freezing."

Harry did so, understanding full well that Ron wouldn't venture out of his comfort zone and that it was better to drop the topic.

It was another discussion he'd had with Fay. They had talked about Luna that day.

"_Luna's incredible," _Fay had said pensively. _"I mean, we spend our days surrounded by magic, but Luna is the only one who can actually _see_ it; the rest of us simply get used to it and forget to appreciate it. Luna, on the other hand, is just special like that."_

Harry couldn't disagree. It was absolutely true.

There used to be a time when he didn't know that dragons and Quidditch existed, yet now it seemed to be a self-explanatory fact.

This discussion had somehow led him and Fay to the topic of open-mindedness in general.

Curiously, people appeared to be remarkably close-minded—even Muggle-borns and half-bloods.

One would have thought that for someone who had been raised in a thoroughly Muggle way—watching TV, playing video games and knowing nothing of magic—accepting the possibility of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack's existence would be easier than for someone who had been exposed to the wizarding culture alone. Yet it wasn't the case. People's close-minded attitude and unwillingness to admit the fact that they could be wrong would often surpass any education they might have received. Maybe this was how the conflicts usually started.

"What are you thinking?" Ron's voice called from somewhere beside him.

"Nothing much," Harry lied. "D'you think we should go to the kitchen? I can definitely smell something good."

"Nah, Fleur will tell us," Ron said dismissively.

Harry nodded.

What he really wanted to do was discuss what he had witnessed the night of the party.

He had seen Snape question Malfoy on the latter's odd behaviour, to which Malfoy had only snarled that it wasn't any of Snape's business and that unlike his father, _he, _Draco Malfoy, would not make the mistake of trusting an inadequate failure of a spy.

Harry hadn't heard anything else, but one thing was clear: Snape had lost all respect in Malfoy's eyes.

_Perhaps he could confide his doubts in Mr Weasley? _

He wasn't sure this was the right thing to do, but he really needed someone's insight—an objective adult's insight—and Mr Weasley had never let him down.

"Checkmate, buddy, you lose," Ron yelled triumphantly, ending their game. "Let's go to the kitchen, never mind waiting for Fleur; I'm hungry."

The boys promptly left the tattered guest room of the Burrow, having succumbed to the delicious scents emanating from the kitchen, and joined the noisy crowd that was helping with dinner.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Diagon Alley was a sight to behold. Looking out of the ice-coated windows of Fæger Herbae, Fay saw jolly shoppers strolling excitedly down the street with their arms full of presents. Glittering white heaps rested peacefully on rooftops and fences. The view filled her with a sense of both excitement and peace. It was a moment when nothing else mattered and all the sadness, disappointment and uncertainty of the past were hidden beneath the soft white drifts.

At magical moments like this, it seemed there were only good things to look forward to. She couldn't but smile when she observed cosy couples meandering lazily across the street and children chasing snowballs and treading after their sledges, which glided before them of their own accord. No one seemed in a rush to experience anything other than the glory of the day. It was so good to be home.

"Fay, baby, what are you doing hiding there?" Mrs Dunbar called.

"Coming, mum," Fay called back. "Do you need help?"

"No, I think I got it," her mum assured. "Do you like the new design?"

"Love it," Fay confessed, studying the way her mum had rearranged the place.

Fæger Herbae offered exclusive plants and herbs from many parts of the world, and they all required different growing conditions. Her mum's idea to arrange the shelves according to the origin of the plants was simply wonderful.

The customers who came in would find themselves literally mesmerised. Those looking for the plant of Alihotsy would find it growing on fresh green moss typical of the North European forests, and those looking for some black walnut would find themselves in a warm riparian area. There were even the smell of fresh pine, the buzz of grassland, and the sensation of cool breeze present respectively.

Numerous charms had had to be applied to reproduce those natural conditions, but to a visitor, it felt like an excursion to the different parts of the world.

"This took me a lot of time and effort, but I thought it would be fun to show our clients how the different plants grow," Moira Dunbar commented absently.

"I agree, it's a brilliant idea," Fay gushed. "I especially like the tropical area—it's so colourful."

"And very fragile," her mum reminded her.

"Of course, but still… the world is full of wonderful, magical places, and it's so good that we can show some of them to our customers," Fay rushed on. "What's our Christmas special this year?"

"Cheering chocolate cookies and a booklet full of interesting Christmas recipes. Do you think we should add anything else?"

"No, I think it's good. It's included as a present for every purchase, right?"

"Right you are, sweetie. But tell me, how's school?" her mum interrupted. "I'm very curious about that boy you've befriended."

"Mum, how did you—"

"How did I guess this new friend you wrote me about was a boy?" Moira Dunbar asked playfully. "Well, I deduced it."

"How?" Fay asked, curious.

"Oh, Fay, you may be a good investigator, but don't forget I used to be married to your father, and I definitely have a few tricks up my sleeve as well."

"Oh, come on, mum, don't torture me—how did I slip?"

"Here," Mrs Dunbar said, giving her a piece of parchment.

Impatient, Fay opened it and was astounded to see her own letter she'd written to her mum in October.

"If you look at this sentence here," her mum instructed, "right where you wrote _I have befriended another student, a Gryffindor. We happened to share a compartment and…_, you will see there is a change in your handwriting. Just after the dash, you seem to have applied less pressure, as if hesitating. This is what made me wonder in the first place. Then there was your request to send a double dose of green tea extract; this was the biggest giveaway. And lastly, the mother's instinct."

"I see," Fay said.

It was true that she had hesitated to write to her mum about Harry. She had thought it would better to tell her in person. The green tea extract had also been for Harry. Green tea was widely used by Muggles for its anti-inflammatory effect, but what many wizards didn't realise was that this simple plant could be used to make even such unpleasant potions as Polyjuice wear off in a little less inconvenient manner.

"You're right," Fay confirmed, looking at her mum. "It's a boy, he's in my year. I just wanted to tell you personally rather than in a letter."

"Aw… I can't believe how fast time flies by," Moira Dunbar cooed. "I can remember you crawling around our living room in a tiny jumpsuit as if it was yesterday. You were such an adorable little thing. And here we are talking about boys."

"Mum," Fay protested, her cheeks blushing red, "do you want to hear about him or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"All right," Fay said, taking a deep breath. "He's in Gryffindor, in my year. He lives with his aunt and uncle. He's a really great person, and very polite—you'll like him."

Suddenly, Fay felt a little self-conscious. It was ridiculous, really: Harry wasn't her boyfriend or anything, and yet, as she was telling her mum about him…

"I see," Moira mused. "Is he cute?"

"_Yeees_," Fay sang awkwardly. "But it's not like that between us—we're just friends."

Moira looked at her daughter attentively, fully understanding that there was something unusual about her baby's agitation.

"Fay," Moira pressed gently, "do you have… a little crush on that boy?"

"No," Fay affirmed. "I mean… I don't think so. He's my friend, but not like Neville… I'm helping him get together with the girl he likes."

"Wait, Fay, I don't think I understand. You say you might have a little crush—"

"A tiny, invisible, hypothetical crush, perhaps. You know, I think it's just this conversation that is making me feel awkward; there is no crush at all."

"All right, all right—a tiny, invisible, temporary crush, which doesn't exist—and yet you are helping him get together with another girl?"

"Yes, we're partners—we have each other's backs—like Muggle cups."

"Muggle cups?"

"That's what Muggle-borns call their Aurors. Sounds funny, I know, like some dish for beverages. I should have explained the term first."

Fay smiled at her mum.

"You know, it's all right," she said. "It's not like when I had a crush on Cedric—oh, speaking of which: while I had a crush on Cedric, _he_ had a crush on Cho. It's so funny! We laughed a lot when it came out."

"Oh, I remember." Moira smiled, recalling what Fay had told her two years ago. "The way you would tail this poor girl."

"Yes, and it hurt a lot to admit that Cho Chang was a thoroughly decent person. All my work was futile."

Fay snickered, too, as she recalled it. Now—two years later—it seemed so comical, like it had happened to someone else.

"Ah, yes, there's nothing worse than discovering that your love rival is a good person."

"Mum, don't laugh, but there used to be a time when I wished Cho were some kind of monster—it would have been easier."

"Oh, I'm not laughing," Moira assured. "I know these things far too well. What about this new boy, though?"

"Oh, let's talk about him later. I think I just saw a customer walking by—"

Fay had been about to say 'by the window', but the words had died on her lips.

The bell rang, and the door opened to reveal none other than an elegantly dressed Draco Malfoy, his pale visage slightly pink with cold, and his shoulders covered with fresh snowflakes.

The young man swiftly made his way towards the proprietor, making sure to bow in a respectful manner.

"Madam Dunbar," he greeted Fay's mother while the girl herself stood off to their side, puzzled at Malfoy's visit.

"Mr Malfoy," Moira greeted back neutrally, gracing the youth with a pleasant professional smile. "Welcome to Fæger Herbae. How may I assist you?"

"I'm not buying today, thank you," Malfoy replied. "I come to invite Fay to Le Goût du Sortilège—I've taken the liberty to book a table there for the two of us. I sincerely hope Fay will accept my invitation."

Draco looked Fay directly in the eye, appearing every ounce the polite, slightly nervous young man who was asking his girlfriend out to dinner in front of her mother.

He played his part almost flawlessly.

Draco had obviously prepared for this encounter. He _wanted_ to appear as natural as possible in front of her mother. His pose, his stance—everything had been rehearsed. Even his clothes were well-chosen for the occasion: the coat he was wearing was a masterpiece by Vincenzo Veggente, an Italian robes designer whose collections were known by the famous, worn by the elite, and showcased by the good-looking.

Fay knew those things because Fæger Herbae's success had been slowly but steadily growing during the last few years, and sometimes Fay would accompany her mum on her business trips. This way, she had got to know some famous European brands and had even got to sneak a peek on some of the wizards and witches featured in magazines.

"It would be a pleasure for me to accept your invitation, Draco," Fay found herself saying, which made her mother almost gasp in shock. "If you would just give me a moment. Mother, may I?"

"As long as Mr Malfoy gives me his word to return no later than by eight o'clock," Moira Dunbar replied in a clear, cold voice. "Do I have your word, Mr Malfoy?"

This brought a smile to Draco's face, which would have looked sincere, if it weren't for the steely, calculating glint in his eyes.

"You needn't worry, Madam, you have my word of honour," he assured, bowing slightly to the proprietor again.

Fay smiled at Draco, playing along, and she quickly ran upstairs, her chest filled with a heavy weight of anxiety.

This was _big_. It could be a trap, it could be a part of some plan; Fay didn't know for sure, but _something_ was going on.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Fay stepped out of her shop's cosy warmth in Draco Malfoy's company, it had already begun to dusk. The snow was still falling peacefully, muffling their footsteps as they walked, but now that there were numerous lights shining on it from the windows and lampposts, it also glittered beautifully.

"Beautiful dress," Draco commented, keeping up the polite tone.

"Thank you," Fay answered. "Would you mind giving me a hand? This zip appears to be stuck."

Fay demonstratively shook her purse, calling for Draco's attention.

Draco narrowed his eyes, but complied all the same.

"Sure," he said, stepping closer.

He reached for her purse, and Fay used this opportunity to whisper to him.

"Someone seems to be following us," she declared, barely moving her lips.

To her surprise, Malfoy remained utterly calm.

"They are following me," he clarified. "It is nothing we should worry about. I would appreciate it if you acted along."

Fay processed that.

If Draco was under some kind of surveillance, then the only way he could have got out without arousing any suspicion was to pretend that he was just out with a friend. This had to be the reason why all this acting was necessary in the first place. She had to make sure.

"And what happens if I don't act along?" she asked in a challenging voice.

"That would be a pity. We might not get another opportunity like this, and what I need to tell you is rather important."

"All right," Fay agreed. "But what happens, should Pansy find out about this?"

"I don't particularly care what Pansy thinks," the boy dismissed casually.

"That's cynical, Mr Malfoy, even for you," Fay stated coldly.

She wasn't particularly fond of Pansy Parkinson—no one really was—but as a girl, she could imagine the pain Pansy would feel if she should find out about Draco's real attitude. In that relationship, Pansy was the giver, and Draco merely an ungrateful receiver.

"Isn't it a bit rich of you to judge me?" he sneered. "By the way, there is no need to be so formal; you may as well use my first name. We have arrived."

And indeed they had.

Le Goût du Sortilège was an eclectic little place squeezed right between Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and TerrorTours travel agency. During all the years Fay had practically lived in Diagon Alley, she had never actually visited the place. She only knew that it was mainly oriented on French cuisine and was popular among hand-holding couples. Pretty much like Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, only classier and more expensive. When she had been younger, she would sometimes wonder whether, one day, she would spend a night out in there with her boyfriend. She certainly wouldn't have thought that the first time she actually ventured into this restaurant would be to discuss some shady business with Draco Malfoy.

Fay didn't really pay attention when a young hostess escorted them to their table, speaking in an exaggerated and clearly fake French accent; she was busy studying her surroundings. Their tail hadn't followed them inside, but it didn't mean there couldn't be more spies around.

"Shall we order? " Draco's voice called out, bringing her back to present.

Fay gave a polite nod, just as the elegantly folded menu cards opened before their eyes as if they had sensed their proximity. At the same moment, the creamy cloth napkins left their plates and unfolded themselves before dropping onto their knees, feather-light.

A superficial glance at the menu left it clear that nothing less than the very pearls of French cuisine could be found here. Among many other soundly dishes, Fay could glimpse such names as _Noix de Saint Jacques à l'orange_, _Paupiettes de veau rôties, Foie gras au chutney de prunes et raisins secs_, and _Cuisses de grenouille au beurre aillé et persillé. _

"I'll have coquilles Saint-Jacques, please," Fay decided.

"Very well, _cuisses de grenouille au beurre aillé_ for me, then, and a bottle of Bordeaux Elf Wine for both of us."

The orders were taken hastily by a waiter who had the uncanny ability to blend in with the stone arcs of the place.

"Well, Draco? What is it you wanted to talk about?" Fay asked, taking a deep breath.

"Oh, please, there is no rush. We're not at school; nobody's pressuring us with the curfew rule," Malfoy drawled.

"I don't particularly care about the curfew rule," Fay assured him. "However, I was under the impression there was something important you wanted to tell me."

"Oh, really?" Malfoy mocked. "A saint, I-can-do-no-wrong little Gryffindor doesn't particularly care about the curfew rule, is it now? You know, it makes me wonder about your other exploits."

"What kind of exploits, Draco?" Fay asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you referring to? I don't think I understand."

Malfoy leaned comfortably back in his chair, pausing in his speech as the tasty dishes appeared before them.

Fay watched the boy warily despite the waiter, who had briefly claimed her attention, waiting for her approval on the wine.

"Thank you," the girl dismissed him gently. "Well, Draco?"

"You see, here's the funny thing," Draco started as soon as they were left alone. "According to Theo, someone broke into my dormitory during the first Hogsmeade weekend, impersonating Blaise. Now you may say it's nothing but Theo's wild imagination, but something doesn't fit. Theo swears Pansy was down there with the fake Blaise as well, yet when I questioned Pansy, she denied everything."

"Interesting," Fay commented in a pointedly bored voice.

"No, you wait, it gets even more interesting: Pansy said she hadn't been anywhere near my dormitory. Moreover, she held a long, explicit monologue on how she had had to wait for Daphne in the Three Broomsticks that day."

"Is there a point to your story?" Fay asked, visibly just as distant, although in truth, she thought she knew where this was going. She hoped she was wrong.

"I haven't finished yet," Malfoy said quietly. "When I asked Pansy _why _she had been waiting for Daphne in the Three Broomsticks, she said a shop assistant from Gladrags Wizardwear had directed her there. So I had a chat with that assistant, and do you know what she said?"

"How can I possibly know if you haven't told me yet?" Fay asked rhetorically and quickly covered her bare shoulders with a scarf—otherwise her goose bumps would surely give her away.

"The shop assistant from Gladrags Wizardwear described a girl eerily similar to you... I wonder if you have any idea why."

"Oh, dear, such suspicions, Draco! I'm wounded."

Fay made sure to keep her tone sarcastic; it was her only option. Draco had deduced everything but had no evidence.

"I'm sure you'll survive," the blond snapped drily, clearly annoyed at Fay's calm attitude. He had obviously hoped to intimidate her, to make her confess.

Fay allowed herself a little mental praise. Now she only had to carefully turn the conversation in another direction.

"Draco, it may come as a shock to you, but it is not the dream of every single girl at Hogwarts to break into your dormitory. Better tell me, was anything missing? Or are you operating merely on Theo's suspicions?"

"Never mind that. What are you saying? That according to you, I'm utterly unattractive? That's funny because I could have sworn you were just flirting with me."

"Don't get me wrong, Draco: aesthetically speaking, you are considered handsome by many witches. However, I strongly disagree with some of the choices you've made, which is why, regardless of your—"

"What choices are you talking about? What the hell are you hinting at?"

Draco's tone had suddenly turned sharp, and Fay had the feeling that if it weren't for the prying eyes in this public place, he would have physically grabbed her.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, wondering what exactly she had said that had hit a nerve, then slowly lowered her glass.

"I was merely alluding to the fact you are not in the slightest bit shy when it comes to expressing your rather daring political views—and I happen to disapprove of the radical views in general. I didn't mean anything else," she clarified.

"I see," Draco muttered. "I apologise for my outburst."

"It's all right," Fay said. "What did the shop assistant from Gladrags Wizardwear tell you exactly?"

"She didn't tell me anything," Draco stated, surprising Fay. "I was bluffing—I've never even met her. I just wanted to see your reaction."

"I see," Fay said. "Sorry I disappointed you."

"Someone was in my dormitory that day," Malfoy overrode her. "Nothing was taken, but someone had been there. I think I even know who."

"Oh, really? Whom do you suspect, then?"

"Potter," Malfoy said simply. "But he wasn't alone; he had to have an accomplice. I wanted to make sure it wasn't you. I hope it wasn't you."

Fay narrowed her eyes, sensing a possible, veiled threat.

"You _hope_ it wasn't me?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," Malfoy said seriously. "Potter's days are as good as counted—he won't be called 'the Chosen One' forever. When the Dark Lord takes over—and it will happen soon—he will be hunted down and killed. There is no other way for him. I once offered him another way, but he rejected it. It's too late for him now. _You_, on the other hand, do stand a chance, and it would be stupid to waste it. If Potter approaches you, don't be stupid. After all, unlike him, you_ do_ have a lot to lose."

"How touching, Draco. But you see, this gentle, caring image doesn't sit well with you… What is it that you really want? To find evidence to Theo's words? I'm afraid I can't help you there. If what Theo said is true, then perhaps you should investigate some of your fellow Slytherins because this sounds like some kind of inside job to me. A Gryffindor wouldn't know the password."

"Thank you for your advice, but please don't flatter yourself," Draco sneered. "I'm certainly not worried about you; I'm merely doing you a favour. A pure-blood to a pure-blood. There aren't many of us left, and it wouldn't hurt to at least try and be nice to each other. After all, you never know when you might need a favour."

Fay genuinely smiled at Draco, having finally understood.

Draco Malfoy was trying to hit two Gnomes with one swat!

He had deduced that someone had been down in the dungeons, that much was clear, and he _was_ looking for a proof; but at the same time, he wanted to find out which pure-blood families would turn out to be blood traitors. With the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, it was clear, but when it came to certain less known but fairly prosperous families like the Dunbars, the Death Eaters weren't really sure what to make of them. And this was another thing that Draco Malfoy was after: he was gathering information. Harry had been right all along: this boy _was_ a Death-Eater. Something had just settled into place. Fay knew exactly what had upset him about her choice of words a moment ago: she had formulated it in such a way that he had grown momentarily afraid she knew about his possible involvement in Katie's accident.

It all made sense now, including the men who had been sent to keep an eye on Draco: as the newest and the youngest Death Eater, he couldn't yet be fully trusted; they thought it was only fair to keep an eye on him.

"What's so funny?" the boy asked, seeing her amusement.

"You know what, Draco? You're clever—you are smarter than most people give you credit for. Consider me impressed," Fay said honestly. "Thank you so much for this dinner, it was great."

She quickly rose, feeling the familiar excitement from the investigation work, when his hand brushed hers.

"Wait! Why such a rush?" he asked. "I'd rather you stayed for the dessert course."

"I can stay only until eight o'clock," she reminded him. "And on the condition that we don't discuss politics."

She wasn't sure why she was agreeing. For some reason, he really wanted to stay for a bit longer, and this time, it wasn't something he was faking.

Reluctantly, he agreed. "Fine—no politics. But think of what I said—sooner or later, you will have to decide."

"How about a _fondant au chocolat_?" Fay asked as she seized the floating menu, purposely ignoring Malfoy's last statement.

He was trying to make her talk, to reveal her true feelings towards the wizard who called himself the 'Dark Lord', and she had no intention of letting herself be tricked this way. If there was one thing her Ravenclaw mother had taught her, it was the fact that revealing one's true feelings to a wrong person could be fatal.

"I'll rather have _crème brûlée_," Draco decided, abandoning political talk as well.

"Crème brûlée? Really?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Nothing, it's just… I would have never thought you had such a sweet tooth."

"I don't," Draco argued indignantly. "Crème brûlée is an exception."

"Oh, for Godric's sake, Draco, lose that sneer; you look almost like Professor Snape. Crème brûlée is a very good choice, seeing that we just had a whole bottle of Bordeaux."

"You're not very fond of it, are you?" Draco noticed.

"It's a little strong for my taste, but then again, I'm very partial to the Italian collection."

They spent the rest of their dinner careful not to turn the conversation to any dangerous topics, and opting for a light chatter about food, drinks, and the popular wizarding entertainment. At some point, it even felt as though they were really having a night out and it wasn't merely one suspicious person trying to interrogate another. They even danced, having gingerly placed their arms around each other, and careful to follow the music and not forget the right steps.

It was really unfathomable how something like this could be possible, for within the walls of Hogwarts, it would have been unthinkable.

And yet, despite these surreal moments, it was merely an interrogation.

* * *

**AN**: Right, Christmas is here and it's only fair to continue with the Christmas holidays in the next chapter as well. As always, I have many thoughts at once, so in the end I'm not sure what to say in an AN.

Vincenzo Veggente is something of a wizarding Giorgio Armani - a master designer who also has magical means of making any clothing look fabulous - and Fæger Herbae would have been one of the best places to hang out because plants rock! On a side note, I can't stop laughing when I try to imagine Ron Weasley visiting a place like Le Goût du Sortilège.

My readers are the most amazing people ever and thank you for reading. Reviews are welcome and not only on this story but also on others. "The Darkness in My Veins" would need some support too (hint, hint [ ;)] ).

Grazie mille a **Tarpeia**, non so cosa facessi senza di te.


	12. Chapter 12: An Overcast Sky

The clock was ticking, it was well past eleven, yet Draco still had not returned.

Narcissa hadn't bothered to light up the dark living room, even though it would have taken her a mere flick of her wand.

The eerily moving shadows on the cold walls of the Wiltshire manor seemed to whisper to her. It was the cruellest irony of life. In a way, she had always craved loneliness, for it enabled her to think, to reflect; and yet the loneliness had also always terrified her. As a certain poet had put it, it meant facing another desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.

As the hours went by, the future seemed to recede. What would happen to them, should Draco fail?

Finally, familiar steps filled the silence.

"The next time you decide to take a stroll, please notify me, Draco," Narcissa spoke imperiously.

"Mother?!" Draco exclaimed with a horrified surprise in his voice. "I thought you'd be sleeping by now."

"Where have you been?" Narcissa overrode him, inspecting him closely.

As she had foreseen, he only responded with an annoyed sigh.

"I was out, Mother; I had a good time."

"_Out,_ you say," Narcissa echoed. "People are disappearing, dying, yet you went out to have a good time without even bothering to notify me. Tell me, had anything happened to you, what could I have possibly done, hmm? Did you even stop to consider such a possibility?"

"Mother, please, there is no need to be so melodramatic," Draco said dismissively. "I can take care of myself. Besides, I was being… ah, kept safe."

Narcissa sighed. "Of course. Those pathetic minions… Whom did they send this time?"

"Not sure. It wasn't Selwyn, this much is certain."

"And who is the lady you spent the evening with?" Narcissa inquired.

Draco didn't respond.

"Oh, please, Draco, you smell of an unfamiliar perfume, and there is a light brown hair on the collar of your shirt." Narcissa pointed at Draco's pale face shining in the moonlight.

"It's nothing you should be worried about, Mother."

"Oh, I'm not worried. We both have long since reached the agreement that I won't question your decisions regarding your girlfriends. But I think you'll agree that the more I know, the better for you. Should you need an alibi one day, I could help you."

Draco gave a curt nod at this, his shoulders hunched dejectedly. It wasn't something he could argue with.

"Here," he said, passing a shiny little box of powder from the horn of a Romanian Longhorn to his mother. "I remember you said you needed some."

Narcissa recognised the package despite the darkness; she didn't even need to see the interlaced, glittering golden trademark letters H and F.

"Fæger Herbae?" she asked. "Are you telling me you went out with Moira Dunbar's daughter?"

"Does it bother you?" Draco challenged.

"In a way," Narcissa admitted. "I happen to be acquainted with Moira Dunbar, and if her daughter is anything like her, I wouldn't want to see you anywhere near that girl."

"You think she's blood-traitor, don't you?" Draco asked, already guessing the answer.

"A very clever blood-traitor," Narcissa confirmed. "Her husband worked as an Auror when she was just starting her shop. After his death, she expanded her business—very successfully so, it appears. I have met her on several important events, including the cocktail parties organised by some fairly famous politicians."

"Are you saying that she has profited from her husband's death, just like Blaise's mother?" Draco specified.

"Oh, no, Moira Dunbar is nothing like Vittoria. She is the typical fool who will grieve for her husband until death reunites them," Narcissa scoffed. "No, I was merely referring to the fact that she put all her grief into hard work, and it paid off. However, the very fact that she has succeeded in becoming a well-known businesswoman speaks for her cunning and intelligence, and that is enough to make me wary. Why did you meet her daughter, Draco?"

"I had a suspicion I needed to confirm; that's why I met her."

"And? Did you confirm your suspicion?" she asked.

"No," Draco admitted. "The only thing I am certain of is that she is an accomplished liar. What I really wanted to find out was whose side she was on, but she kept redirecting our conversation..."

Suddenly, Draco felt like laughing—he had been such a fool! He had let his guard down.

"That nosy Gryffindor—I can't believe I let myself be carried away like this! She knew exactly what she was doing..."

"Draco, let me tell you something," Narcissa said sternly. "You are under a lot of pressure. You need to accomplish your task, and you need to do it before the end of the school year—"

"I know!" Draco hissed irritably. "I'm trying! It's not that easy, Mother—"

"Do not raise your voice," Narcissa ordered. "I know it is not easy; that is why I asked Severus to help you—"

"I don't need his help!" Draco protested at once, his fists clenched. His voice was suddenly loud and strong; a wave of white-hot anger had risen inside him. His mother knew nothing about his feelings. "Stop trying to make him help me. I don't want his help, don't you understand?!"

Narcissa stared at her teenage son. His grey eyes were turmoil of pain, hatred, and determination all at once. He was trembling slightly, as if struggling to control himself. She felt hopeless, wishing with all her heart she could help him, yet not knowing how to do it.

"Draco..." she whispered softly.

"Don't," he bade out in a strangled voice. "You have no idea what it's like, all right?! Every time he tries to get something out of me, I can barely control myself. I want to crack his greasy head in two, that's what I want! Why do you think Father is in jail? Why do you think we've become such a disgrace? Everyone's laughing stock? Why?"

"Draco—"

"I'll tell you why: because Snape has never really cared about us. Snape cares only about himself. He is fooling us the same way he is fooling that old coot Dumbledore and his useless Order. I didn't see it before, but I see it now. Snape does as little as he can for either side in this war, so that neither the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore would suspect him of treason; but every once in a while, he needs to sacrifice someone, doesn't he? Or else, it'll look suspicious. I don't particularly care about that Emmeline Vance, but I do care about my father, and I will not forgive Snape for sacrificing _him_."

Narcissa didn't say anything. It was better to let Draco calm down. If truth be told, she secretly agreed with him. The actions of Severus Snape were highly dubious, and it was certainly very queer that the man hadn't alerted the Death Eaters to the arrival of the Order. If he had, Lucius wouldn't have been sent to Azkaban, and she wouldn't have to worry about her only child's life.

"I asked him to make an Unbreakable Vow with me, Draco," she said instead. "And even if you are right, Severus has no choice but to help you. Please, use that chance, and please, I beg you, do not get distracted."

"I'm not getting distracted, Mother; I know what's at stake," Draco declared. "The fact that I went out with a Gryffindor to check a couple of things doesn't mean anything—I still have a plan."

"Draco, darling, you know that I will do anything for you. All you have to do is ask."

"I know, Mother," the boy assured her.

They looked at each for several more minutes before Draco wished her a good night.

"Draco," Narcissa called after him, "do not forget about your Legilimency lesson with Bellatrix tomorrow."

The teen didn't reply; he merely nodded, tossing carelessly his designer coat onto the floor for the unseen house-elf to pick up. It had been such an unusual night for him. There were so many things to reflect on. His mother was right, he had to stay focused. His own life was at stake, and yet it had been great to be able to get away, even if for a few hours.

Fay Dunbar was an annoying, nosy Gryffindor, yet the way she reasoned was refreshing. He had never had such conversations with Pansy. Pansy would always agree with everything he said, and while it had been flattering at first, it had lost its charm. It was as if a part of him craved the conflict, the defying attitude, the challenge...

Narcissa, on her part, felt even uneasier than before. While Draco went upstairs, she stayed behind, watching the gliding clouds that obscured the moon. Her family needed to remain safe, and she would do anything to keep it safe.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ninety-seven miles away from Wiltshire, in London, Moira Dunbar was entertaining very similar thoughts. Since she belonged to the same social circles as the Malfoys, she knew perfectly well what this family was like. There had been rumours about Lucius Malfoy having illegal and criminal connections for years, and when the man had finally been arrested, it hadn't come as a shock to anyone.

It was only prudent to assume that his son, who had been raised in a fairly biased but politically aware environment, would share his father's world views. It had, therefore, been such a blow to watch this boy ask Fay out.

This wasn't good.

Moira had almost worried herself sick as the minutes ticked by and she waited for Fay to come back safe and sound.

Finally, she did.

"Mum," the girl exclaimed, shutting the door behind her and rushing towards her mother to give her a tight hug.

Taken aback by such a surge of affection, Moira quickly hugged her daughter back, her mind reeling.

"Fay, baby, what is it? Why have you returned so late? Did something happen? Did he offend you?"

"I'm all right, mum," Fay assured. "Draco didn't offend me. It's just that something he said made me worry... Do we have anything to eat?"

Not waiting for her mother's response, the girl quickly rushed to the kitchen, startling their old house-elf by starting to heap food on a plate.

Moira watched her, unsure what to make of it.

"They serve you next to nothin' on a plate in those fancy places," Fay explained between bites. "'M so 'ungry..."

"Yes," Moira agreed cautiously, "and the consumption of alcohol generally makes one even hungrier. Fay, what did I say about drinking? How could you possibly be so irresponsible?"

"Mum, 'm fine... we 'ad... only one glass..."

"All right, let's talk about it some other time," Moira sighed. "What was it that scared you so much?"

"Mum, you always lock the doors and place protective wards around our place, right?" Fay made sure hastily.

"Of course, I always follow the elementary safety rules," Moira assured her.

"Good," Fay said. "And don't chat too much with customers, either, all right?"

"Fay, I'm an adult; I know how to take care of myself. Why don't you rather tell me what happened?"

"Draco tried to make me reveal whose side we were on. He was gathering information—you know... for _them_."

Moira sucked in a breath, understanding the implications.

"Fay..." she started cautiously.

"I didn't tell him," Fay assured her at once. "I used the tactic you had taught me and redirected the conversation. We talked about food and entertainment. We didn't even discuss history, just to be on the safe side. We had a good time, actually."

Moira heaved a relieved sigh.

"Good," she said, echoing Fay's earlier reply. "Being neutral for the time being is our best chance. I didn't want to worry you, sweetie, but I have been approached, too."

"Oh?"

"It was a conversation I wanted to leave for later, but there seems to be no choice," Moira confessed. "The better informed you are, the better prepared you are."

"I'm listening," Fay prompted.

"Last time around, when it all began. You were a mere baby, so you don't remember," her mother explained. "About forty years ago, when everybody thought the wizarding Europe had recovered from Grindelwald's war, certain tensions began to arise. A Werewolf Movement emerged, and several witches and wizards were attacked. Those incidents served to spread panic among the population. Nobody felt safe anymore, and everybody blamed each other. As soon as we found ourselves being attacked, a number of voices arose, all blaming the low teaching standards at Hogwarts and the overall inadequate politics... And so, little by little, these voices formed entire revolutionary campaigns, which intended to create a better society: a society that would be able to protect itself..."

"And Muggle-borns were seen only as a hindrance, weren't they?" Fay asked. "Because they come to our world without knowing anything about magic, and it generally takes them longer to understand our world and learn..."

"Unfortunately, yes," Moira confirmed. "You see, sweetie, it was only later that we understood that this whole Werewolf Movement had been fabricated by the very same mysterious force that aimed at destabilising the Ministry in the first place. It had become apparent during my school days; by the time it was clear, however, it was too late—this new force was too powerful and had too many followers..."

"I know that, mum."

"Of course, but pay attention: last time around, the civil war was never officially declared—our government was strong. Orion Black, although an elitist to boot, was a known politician in those times, and his coalition managed to keep the Ministry going almost until the end. This time, it won't be the case as we don't have any strong Dark political figures. There will be an utter chaos: Muggle-borns will be imprisoned merely for their blood status—I'm afraid even public executions might become reality. It will be truly horrible... This is why you have to promise me not to get in trouble and to stay away from the people involved in the war."

"You don't have to worry," Fay assured her, trying to shake off the chill that had settled in the pit of her stomach. "There is no way I'm going out with Draco again."

"I don't mean only that young man when I speak about the involved parties; there are people within your own House I want you to stay away from."

"Mum—"

"Fay, listen, I'm not exaggerating. I have certain connections, and I'm more informed about the current situation than certain other parents. The Ministry of Magic is already being infiltrated, and it won't take long before You-Know-Who takes over. When that happens, his opponents will be declared traitors and possibly even war criminals. They will be hunted down, imprisoned, and even killed. Sadly, people we know are on this list—chiefly the families of your classmates."

"What are you saying, mum?"

"It may seem incomprehensible to you, Fay, but _you_ are all I have. If something happens to you, I won't be able to live. My business, my life's work... nothing will matter anymore."

"Mum..." Fay protested feebly, already knowing what she was about to hear.

"Fay, please, stay safe—don't form any connections with the wrong kids..."

"Like who, for example?" Fay asked tiredly.

"I think you know: Harry Potter, the Weasleys—people who are the chief enemies of You-Know-Who and his allies," Moira specified. "Darling, please, understand this: it pains me to ask it of you, but I have no choice. Contrary to my expectations, you were sorted to Gryffindor just like your daddy, and there are currently many people in this House who will fight against the terror regime... I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I understand, mum," Fay said quietly, taking one last bite.

"Oh, but it's Christmas," Moira reminded her. "Let's not be so sad, all right? Our guests are coming tomorrow, and we will be busy hosting them. Better tell me about that boy you've befriended. We didn't have a chance to talk about him earlier..."

"Oh, you know, mum, it's nothing. We are not friends, actually—he merely asks for my help in Potions from times to times... You know, I'm actually tired. I'll go upstairs. Good night."

Fay left hastily, feeling both guilty and betrayed. She should have known that her ever-practical mother wouldn't be happy to find out she had befriended Harry. It was better not to tell her.

There was only one problem: Harry was supposed to visit them soon. Now, she would have to find a way to tell him that he shouldn't come.

Life was so unfair.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry's Christmas had been good so far. Despite the gloomy, grey weather, the overcast sky, his confinement to the territories surrounding the Burrow and the numerous little rows, he felt at home.

"Harry, lunch is ready," Ginny called with a gentle knock on the door. "What are you doing?"

"Reading," Harry answered.

"Really?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"Why? I can read, you know," Harry joked feebly.

"It's just something Hermione would do. Did you even open your presents?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the gloves—now I can play Quidditch even in the Arctic Circle."

"I knew you'd like them," Ginny said triumphantly.

"They're awesome," Harry assured her with a smile.

The girl smiled back.

"So, what are you reading?"

"It's another present I received," Harry explained. "A wizarding detective book; it's really cool, actually. I didn't understand how to read it at first because some pages wouldn't open; but then, when I looked closely, there were little squares at the bottom of every page, which reminded me of the boxes you had to tick off in primary school tests. It turns out you are supposed to reason with the protagonist throughout the plot and decide what should be done next—chasing the criminal or waiting for backup. As soon as you make your decision, you tap the square with your wand, and the book will take you further..."

"Let me guess," Ginny mused, "_Adventures of Auror Aubrey_? I used to hate that book. How am I supposed to know what to do?! Books are meant to be fun, not to make you feel desperate... If you want some really good stuff, read _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_."

"_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_?" Harry repeated.

"Children's stories," Ginny clarified. "And good ones, too—better than this Auror Aubrey nonsense. Who would give such a thing for Christmas anyway?"

"Err... it's from Fay. We sort of exchanged books for Christmas."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I got her some Muggle stuff," Harry admitted. "Muggles have Aurors, too, you know. I thought it'd be interesting..."

Ginny let out an amused laugh.

"That's lame, Harry," she declared.

"You really think so?" Harry asked, somewhat hurt. "What about my gift to you?"

"Don't worry, a girl could never get enough of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," Ginny winked.

"You didn't like it, did you?" Harry asked, crestfallen, knowing full well that when it came to girls, he always managed to get things wrong.

"Harry, what's with that look? You have to take things easy. Look, it's Christmas morning."

"I should have got you a broom polisher… Sorry, Gin, I'm such an idiot."

Harry felt positively embarrassed. It had shocked him that Ron had chosen a perfume for Hermione despite all the odds. It had made him think that he should get something meaningful for Ginny, too; but the more he had thought about it, the more nervous he would become, and in the end, he had just settled for a large pack of sweets.

"Why are you hiding your face, Harry?" Ginny asked, perplexed. "Because of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans? Don't worry—I gave the worst of them to Ron."

Harry laughed despite himself.

"Don't get me wrong," Ginny clarified. "I love my brother, but sometimes he's a git... However, it turned out to be a fair deal—Ron will eat everything, you see."

"Have you two made up, though?" Harry asked carefully.

"Yeah, we have—I mean, we both sort of lost it back then," Ginny explained. "Anyway, he promised not criticise my relationship with Dean, and I promised not to say anything about him eating Lavender's face."

Harry nodded, trying to ignore her mention of Dean.

"Hey, don't brood," Ginny ordered, giving him a playful swat.

"I'm not brooding—"

"Then let's dance," she commanded, leaving him speechless.

Before he could react, the girl had already rushed to an old gramophone, altered by Mr Weasley, and an instant later, Harry heard a rather familiar tune sang by voices so clear that he could have sworn he was witnessing a live performance.

_Move your body like a hairy troll_

_Learning to rock and roll_

_Just spin around like a crazy elf_

_Dancin' by himself_

"Hey, that's The Weird Sisters," Harry recalled.

"Just have fun, Harry, come on—I'll show you the moves..."

_Boogie down like a unicorn_

_No stoppin' till the break of dawn_

Ginny sang along, moving her limbs in a random manner, her long red hair swinging in all directions. She looked very pretty, but Harry wasn't given the chance to remain a mere observer.

Ginny urged him to dance along despite his awkwardness, and when he hesitated, she just grabbed Fay's book, making Harry chase her across the room. It was horribly childish, but very fun.

At some point, he actually found himself singing along.

_Shake your booty like a boggart in pain_

_Again and again and again_

"Ma ma maaaa," Ginny sang as the song ended, not caring about the lyrics.

Harry collapsed back onto the bed.

"Here," Ginny said, tossing the book back at him. "You should do it more often, seriously."

"Yeah... Thanks, Gin, I guess I really needed that."

"Oh, Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair; I think it landed on you while we were dancing," she said cheerfully, leaning in to pick it up. Harry felt goose bumps erupt over his skin, and they had nothing to do with the maggot.

Instinctively, he put his hands around her waist before she could lose balance.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered, her cheeks heating up.

"It's all right," Harry whispered.

She was so close; Harry could count all the freckles on her face... And then it felt as though there were only the two of them, as if nobody else existed. Only Ginny and he, their faces inches apart, her lips so close that he could almost taste them, his hands on her waist, holding her and holding this moment as if it were a bird in his hands—

"Arry, ze food ees ready—oooohhh, désolée…"

Fleur stood at the threshold, her hands pressed to her mouth, and looking highly uncomfortable.

Ginny and Harry quickly let go of each other.

"Well, err... see you, Harry. Glad you liked the gloves. And Bertie's Beans were cool, honest..."

Ginny exited hastily, toppling over Ron's shoes on her way to the door.

Harry was left standing there, feeling slightly stupid.

"Arry, eef I knew, I wouldn't 'ave come," Fleur explained, trying sincerely to apologise. "Mrs Weasley sent me up to tell you zat ze food was getting cold... I 'ad no idea."

"It's all right, Fleur," Harry assured, following her downstairs.

When they arrived, everybody was already seated. Harry quickly registered the fact that everybody was wearing their brand new Weasley sweaters for Christmas lunch. The only exception was Fleur, for whom Mrs Weasley had evidently neglected to make one. Avoiding Fleur's eye, Harry sat down near Mr Weasley. If the French witch was hurt or offended, though, she certainly didn't show it.

Mrs Weasley, on her part, was busy showing off her glittering midnight blue witch's hat and a golden necklace.

"Fred and George gave them to me, aren't they just beautiful?"

"Very," Harry said hastily.

"We now appreciate you more, mum," George said.

"Yeah, now that we have to wash our own socks," Fred added.

"Am I imagining it, or is someone coming over?" Ginny asked suddenly, looking out of the window.

Harry saw it, too: there were silhouettes of no less than three people. Instinctively, he gripped the handle of his wand. Mr Weasley, Bill, and the twins mirrored his movements.

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley cried out suddenly. She had risen from her chair; her hand was pressed over her heart as she stared out of the kitchen window. "Arthur—it's Percy!"

"No way!" George whistled.

"What?"

"There's Tonks," Harry said.

Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in a feeble daylight. He was not alone, though. Next to him, indeed, walked Tonks and none other than Rufus Scrimgeour.

* * *

**AN**: Sorry it took so long this time. My lovely beta was busy (hope you'll have a great weekend!).

What can I say? I felt that I really needed to show different families and different mothers before I continue with this story making it more AU; after all, Rowling shows us only one family - the Weasleys - but the Weasleys are only one type of family whereas families tend to be different.

I named Blaise's mother 'Vittoria'; very fitting for a beautiful but ruthless and invincible witch. The song by the Weird Sisters can be found on youtube - 'Do the Hippogriff' (it's really cool) and more politics lies ahead in the next chapter. Hermione will get more screen time in the next chapter as well.


	13. Chapter 13: Angry decisions

As he walked absently along the busy Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Harry was only vaguely aware of Tonks and Fleur tagging along none too silently behind him.

After the conversation he had had with the Minister for Magic, Tonks had apparently decided it was her top priority to prepare Harry for _what lay ahead_, as she'd put it.

Harry knew he ought to be grateful, but at that moment, he couldn't really bring himself to niceties. Scrimgeour, at least, had been honest: he had told Harry flat out that as far as he was concerned, it didn't really matter if Harry was the Chosen One or not and that what should be kept in mind instead was the simple fact that Harry was considered a symbol of resistance, the Boy Who Lived. Also, that it would benefit everyone if Harry pretended to collaborate with people in power.

Harry had bitterly pointed out that such brutal honesty didn't show the Minister in the most favourable light. After all, the man had accidentally admitted he couldn't care less about Harry as a person and that all he wanted was an obedient poster boy who'd save his career. But the whole thing didn't really change the fact that Scrimgeour had been more honest with him than certain other people.

The conversation Harry had had afterwards with Tonks hadn't made him feel any better.

"_Politics is like that, Harry," _she had said, wrinkling her nose._ "There is no such thing as justice or conscience, just like there are no permanent friends or permanent enemies. In politics, just like in life, you have to adapt according to the circumstances and to collaborate with whomever necessary—it's actually very surprising Scrimgeour chose to be so open about it."_

Harry wasn't sure how he should have reacted to this. Scrimgeour was one thing, but what about Dumbledore?

Right after Harry had tricked the Minister into confessing his true opinion, the man had said something that had made Harry question people he had always trusted.

"_You may regard me as a man with no proper honour, Mr Potter, and, believe me, I would understand," _Scrimgeour had said in the end. _"But ask yourself: am I really the only one who has ever tried to approach you? And if I am, then why am I the only one? Once you find the answer to that question, I believe you will start seeing many things you haven't seen before."_

Scrimgeour had left after that, but Harry's thoughts would constantly jump to all the occasions when Harry had been the last one to learn certain vitally important things which the others had been long since aware of.

If he had known of the existence of the prophecy back in his fifth year, he'd have known what to expect. At the very least, Hermione would have researched the things they could encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Then there was the fact that certain families had long since known each other while he had come to Hogwarts without knowing anything about his mum or dad. Overall, it all came down to the simple fact that he had always been kept in the dark.

And now, Tonks had suddenly decided to help him?

_Well, about time_, he thought angrily, glancing over his shoulder.

"I 'ave charmed your trunk feather light, 'Arry," Fleur's voice rang out suddenly, "zo you don't 'ave to worry about lifting it on ze top shelf in ze train."

Harry's attention snapped to her instead, and he vaguely wondered if the Veela witch had some kind of ability to sense emotions because this wasn't the first time when she was subtly redirecting a conversation.

"Thank you, Fleur," Harry managed to say before a tall wizard whom they had just passed turned around at the sound of her name.

_"Mademoiselle Delacour? Quelle bonne surprise!"_

Harry stopped, stunned, and so did Fleur and Tonks.

_"Signor Ferriani! Oh, je suis ravie de vous voir! Il y a si longtemps! __Comment allez-vous?" _Fleur gushed enthusiastically_._

It was obvious that she knew the wizard. By the looks of it, he knew her as well. Harry exchanged a glance with Tonks, who had her wand at a ready, just in case.

_"Très bien, très bien! Et vous, Fleur? Ma foi, vous êtes encore plus sublime qu'avant."_

Fleur smiled happily, her face acquiring a wistfully shy but pleased expression, from which Harry concluded that the wizard must have paid her some kind of a compliment.

As if on cue, both Fleur and her acquaintance suddenly realised that there were other people present.

"Oh, 'ow rude of us… Arry, Tonks, zis eez Amedeo Ferriani, a good friend of papa and ze best business wizard I 'ave ever met. Monsieur Ferriani, zese are Tonks and Arry, my friends."

"Amedeo Ferriani," the wizard said, giving Tonks a polite bow and extending a hand towards Harry. "It eez a pleasure to meet you."

Harry stiffened as the man's eyes briefly flickered to his scar, but to his immense surprise and relief, the wizard didn't comment on it.

"Have you already met the lovely Madam Dunbar?" the wizard went on, gesturing towards a pleasant-looking witch, who stood beside him.

Harry's attention immediately shifted to her. She had to be Fay's mother. He scanned their surroundings while the witch was getting acquainted with Fleur and Tonks, and sure enough, a little further away, there stood none other than a sour-faced Fay, glaring daggers at this Ferriani person.

Harry caught her eye, and she gave him a subtle headshake as if telling him not to show that they knew each other. It certainly was bizarre, but he decided to leave all his questions for later.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr Potter," Mrs Dunbar told him pleasantly. "I trust you know my Fay; she is in your year and also in Gryffindor."

She motioned for Fay to come closer, which Fay did reluctantly.

"We've seen each other, but we don't hang out," Fay blurted out. "Harry has his own clique, and I have mine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find a compartment."

Having said this, the girl grabbed her trunk and pushed past them forcefully, not bothering to even say goodbye to her mother or get acquainted with Fleur.

Harry lowered his eyes, trying hard to appear indifferent. He was utterly unable to understand Fay's behaviour. Why would she publicly deny she knew him? He suddenly recalled the occasion on which Dudley had tried to persuade their class teacher that he wasn't related to Harry, that Harry was merely a freak adopted from an orphanage. He brushed the thought away.

Mrs Dunbar appeared shocked; Fleur and Ferriani looked uncomfortable and confused. Tonks, however, was another matter.

"Wow, now this is what I call an extreme case of celebrity crush in denial," she said brightly.

Everybody stared, especially Harry.

"Oh, come on, don't be shy now, handsome; you tend to have this effect on girls—remember the ickle Gin-Gin from a few years ago," Tonks said with a wink.

Harry couldn't help but cringe at the memory. Ginny's admiration used to be extremely awkward.

"I zent ze first boy I 'ad a crush on into ze 'ozpital wing," Fleur confessed, slightly embarrassed.

This seemed to have done the trick. The adults soon recovered from Fay's stunt, recalling their own teenage blunders, and Tonks used this opportunity to escort Harry on the train.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Come on, Neville, just say 'hi' to her," Fay encouraged quietly, just as Hannah Abbott passed beside their compartment, chatting with her red-headed friend, Susan Bones.

She knew perfectly well that Neville had a crush on Hannah but was very insecure about it. It was a pity, since Hannah was pretty open-minded and witty, and should Neville ever find the courage to approach her, they could become very good friends.

Neville, however, only shook his head.

"It's no use, Fay," he said miserably. "If, at least, we were in the same House..."

Fay didn't know how to reply, so she merely shrugged.

"What happened earlier, by the way?" Neville asked, taking her off guard. "You looked positively murderous when you came in."

"Did it show?" Fay asked somewhat sadly. Now that her inner child had calmed down, she realised that throwing such a tantrum hadn't been very wise. The more she thought about it, the guiltier she felt.

The train had already started moving, and she had no idea which compartment Harry was in. He must have thought the worst of her. She wished she could explain. After the conversation she had had with her mum on Christmas, she didn't want the latter to know she and Harry were friends because she wasn't sure of her mum's reaction to such news. But Harry didn't know this and was likely to be thinking the very worst.

"It kind of did; it's kind of scary when you're angry," Neville said. "So what happened? Did the Slytherins get to you?"

"Not this time," Fay replied. "Remember this Italian business wizard you met during Christmas dinner at our place?"

"Mr Ferriani?" Neville asked, perplexed. "Yeah, I liked him. He seemed cool."

Fay glared.

"Or not," Neville corrected awkwardly. "What's going on, Fay?"

"It was a dinner for friends and family, Neville, not a business dinner. Why do you think he was there?"

"Err… because he's a family friend?" Neville said tentatively. "Just like Gran and I…"

"They're dating, Neville," Fay answered in a broken voice without looking at him.

"Oh," Neville breathed. "Well… look at the bright side: if it was my Gran, she'd go for someone from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. This Ferriani dude at least looks okay."

"Not helping," Fay snapped, although she was fighting a small smile at the thought of Mrs Longbottom kissing someone from the Committee.

Everybody knew that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures consisted of ancient, paranoid wizards, barely able to stand on wobbly legs, and who made even Professor Dumbledore look like a little boy in comparison.

"I just can't believe her…"

"Fay, it's been seven years since—" Neville tried feebly, but Fay visibly took it the wrong way.

"Exactly," she said, her usually sober grey eyes acquiring an uncharacteristic fiery hue. "It's been _only_ seven years—I knew you'd understand!"

Thankfully, Neville was saved from answering when the compartment door slid open to reveal Luna.

"There you are," the Ravenclaw said happily. "Come in, Harry."

Fay's heart sank. Harry came in right behind Luna, looking somewhat out of place. It was obvious he wasn't sure what to make of her behaviour on the platform. He seemed wary and offended.

"A new design?" Neville asked, pointing at Luna's Spectrespecs after greeting Harry.

"Oh, yes," Luna answered dreamily. "It's Padma who helped me reshape them. I was quite surprised, actually; at first, I thought she wasn't serious, but she really seemed to want to help. I wonder what brought this on; she never helped me before…"

Luna's voice remained gentle as she spoke, but Fay noticed a little side glance in her direction and she knew it wasn't a coincidence. Luna was extraordinarily perceptive in a way that Fay couldn't even begin to understand. Somehow Luna knew that Padma's sudden kindness had been brought on by Parvati's harsh critique of Luna's treatment by her fellow Ravenclaws.

Fay could only guess at Parvati's motives. This change must have been partly caused by the revealing conversations the two of them had had, and also by Parvati's strategy of pushing her dream forward. The logic was really simple: if the girls were nice to people Fay liked, Fay could help them make their beauty line dream come true.

Naturally, Fay didn't comment on any of this. She said instead, "These Spectrespecs look really nice, Luna. What d'you think, Harry?"

"Well, they do suit your outfit," Harry said honestly.

Truth to be told, they didn't look bad at all.

"Here, Fay," Luna said, "I have a pair for you, too. I only wish I could have given them to you on the platform; you had quite a vicious Wrackspurt attack back there."

The words had barely escaped Luna when Fay felt her bad mood return in full force.

"It wasn't the Wrackspurts' fault, Luna," she said pointedly as Neville tried to suppress a chuckle after glimpsing Fay's expression.

"Of course it was the Wrackspurts' fault," Luna assured, observing Fay sympathetically. "Why else would you react like that to your mum's happiness? It doesn't make sense."

"Let's take a walk, Harry," Fay said abruptly before adding a quick _please_.

Harry looked back at her for a moment, and to her great relief, he nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Let's go and greet the others. Ron and Hermione are somewhere around here."

As they exited, Fay distinctly heard muffled laughter, not very different from the sort of laughter she herself would let out whenever McLaggen _amused_ the other Gryffindors with his antics.

She sure wasn't making herself any favours today, but Neville, at least, didn't mean it in any bad way when he laughed like that. She, Neville, and Luna weren't exactly friends, but they were three outsiders who shared a unique understanding of each other.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

"My mum disapproves of my detective hobby; she thinks it's dangerous, especially now. If anything, she'd rather see me overtaking her business in the future," Fay informed Harry more or less in one breath. "I had an earful of her preaching about cautiousness, and when we met at the platform, I panicked. Sorry, I didn't know what to do."

She peered up at him. They were hiding near the conductor's cabin so as to not disturb those who stood in the middle of the corridor.

Harry said nothing; he remembered how Seamus's mother had forbidden Seamus from having anything to do with him. It seemed that the present situation was no different.

"I am _not_ giving up on our mission, no matter what my mother thinks," Fay assured him, taking him aback. "Our mission is very important to me; you know that, right?"

Harry gave an awkward grunt of appreciation, feeling relieved, although it wasn't easy for him to tolerate the fact that people never treated him normally. Some would lose their heads and fawn over his celebrity status, and some would do the exact opposite: hate and fear him for the exact same reason. It was difficult to bear.

"Is this Mr Ferriani a friend of your mother's?" he asked to switch the subject.

"Something like that, it doesn't matter," Fay responded matter-of-factly. "There's something else I need to tell you instead: Draco came to see me before Christmas."

Harry gaped like a fish, wondering if he'd heard correctly.

"WHAT?!" he snapped in disbelief. "Why?"

"He came to see me," Fay repeated calmly. "I don't know how to break it to you… Since there's no gentle way of telling you, I'll just go ahead and say it: Draco suspects we've been in the dungeons, but he has no proof. He's quite smart, Harry; we need to be careful."

"How—what… I mean, what did he want? What did he say?" Harry blurted out, unsure which question he wanted to voice first.

"Well," Fay started, "he came to our shop in the evening and asked me out—"

"And you accepted?" Harry demanded, incredulous. "Are you mad? Which part of the notion _Death Eater_ do you not understand? Do you have any idea what they're capable of?!"

Fay blinked, confused by Harry's reaction—she'd assumed he'd let her talk first.

"It seemed foolish to turn him down—it obviously was important since he had bothered to come to me in the first place, and I wasn't about to refuse an opportunity to find out what he wanted…"

"And if he'd attacked you?" Harry challenged. "How would you have defended yourself? What if he had had his Death Eater buddies with him, what then, eh?"

"Well, in terms of _death-eaterism_, Draco's a novice, don't you think?" Fay reasoned.

Harry snorted.

"Yeah, tell that to Katie—she's still in St. Mungo's, by the way," he said bitterly.

"All right, it might have been slightly imprudent to not consider the danger," Fay agreed, purely for the sake of avoiding an argument, and quickly rushed on, "Do you want to hear what he had to say or not, then?"

It was the right route to take. Harry still appeared bizarrely angry with her, but he was also curious, this much was clear.

"All right, then," Fay breathed. "It turns out we made a few strategic mistakes. We should have Disillusioned ourselves so that Theo wouldn't see us. It's now evident that he saw a fake Blaise and a fake Pansy in Draco's dormitory. Draco did some asking around and quickly deduced that 'Pansy' had been an impostor as well—and he's absolutely right. Luckily, he doesn't have any evidence to support his theory—not even proof that someone invaded his dormitory in the first place—but he's dead certain it's you who impersonated Blaise."

Harry shrugged. "Snape and Malfoy are ready to accuse me of anything that goes wrong in the castle. It's no big deal."

"Well, it is a bit troubling that he deduced I'd played Pansy; I mean, I would have thought he'd immediately think of Hermione Granger… He's smarter than we anticipated."

Harry snorted. His first instinct was to laugh the entire thing off: Malfoy had never quite been a thinker—a daddy's boy was more like it—but it was true that something about him felt different this year.

"All right, what do you propose?"

"I've been thinking, Harry… maybe it's a rash decision, but we need a better plan, and we need to… mislead him. What do you think of recruiting Neville? We don't have to tell him everything, but he'd help us. And I trust him…"

"Neville?" Harry repeated, lost in thought.

"Think about it; it would keep Draco off track—he already suspects me, and he'll suspect you no matter what. Neville, on the other hand, is not known for actively picking trouble with Slytherins."

"I don't know, Fay," Harry sighed.

Fay sighed, too. She knew very well that Harry had always been together with Ron and Hermione, and thus he hadn't become really close to anyone else during the time he'd spent at Hogwarts. Collaborating with a new team of sorts was going to be a challenge for him. He needed time to think it over. There was also the matter of confidentiality. The more people knew about the mission, the more dangerous any indiscretion would be.

"Well, I've decided to get to the bottom of this Malfoy issue, Harry," she declared. "And should I need Neville's help, I will do as I see fit."

This was unexpected. For the second time that day, she found Harry staring at her.

"I see that you've already made up your mind," he stated, fully aware that his words were coming out in a somewhat hostile manner.

Fay rubbed her forehead.

"I haven't 'made up' anything, Harry," she said. "And, trust me, I don't want to argue; I've spent my entire Christmas holiday being angry, and now I'm just tired. All I'm saying is that I will get to the bottom of this Malfoy issue—it's something we both want—but should I need Neville's help at some point, I'll turn to him."

Harry didn't say anything; instead, he surprised her with his own statement.

"I have made a few decisions as well," he said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking… I believe I really need to get things straight with Ron and Hermione. And if you don't mind, then… well, you could sometime join us in the Common Room."

Fay nodded. For some reason, Harry seemed to be very tense and angry, and an inner voice told her it wasn't just because she had brought up Draco or Neville. She wasn't sure what to think.

"Are you sure this is all right, Harry?" she asked. "Neither of them is very fond of me."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Harry explained. "It's time to talk things clear. See you at dinner."

Harry stepped out of their hiding place just as Tonks came over, looking for him. The new security measures were tight, and Aurors were patrolling the train to make sure the students were in their rightful places.

Their meeting sure hadn't gone as well as Fay had planned. Perhaps Harry hadn't had a wonderful Christmas, either. It now occurred to her that she had suggested he should become closer to Ginny over the holidays.

What if this had resulted in a fiasco? Perhaps this was the reason Harry was angry with her. He certainly _seemed_ to be angry about something.

* * *

**AN**: long time no see and the first thing I offer my dear readers is a cup of bitter Espresso instead of Cappuccino, but anyway, I sort of needed to have a break because I had an uncertain impression that people were losing interest in "Dinky Aurors" due to lack of feedback.

Recently though I had a little moment off and decided to write a chapter. My ever lovely beta **Tarpeia** was graciously there to help. Thank you!


	14. Chapter 14: Baby Steps

_Spring term, 1997_

As January arrived, wrapping the castle in sheets of sleet and ice, and the howling wind mercilessly attacked bare trees, the student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was forced to face yet another row of long and tedious days full of endless homework.

Among countless lamenting young witches and wizards who had got alienated from the sound of a quill scribbling on parchment over the holidays, there was one person who welcomed the routine.

Sitting in her usual place near the fireplace in the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione didn't even notice someone was approaching her. For several weeks, she had only had the company of her books to console her. It occurred to her it happened almost every year. In their first year, the boys hadn't appreciated it when she had tried to keep them from trouble by not letting them take that stupid 'midnight duel' bait from Malfoy. In their third year, they had shunned her because of a rat and a broomstick. In their fifth year, Harry would snap at her for every minor reason, even though all she had done was try to help as much as possible while Umbridge made their life hell. And now, Ron was just insufferable... And she felt very lonely.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry's voice rang from above her. "How were your holidays?"

Hermione looked up. It was plain Harry was uncomfortable, his question coming off particularly awkward, seeing how they hadn't even bid goodbye to one another when Harry had left for the Burrow for Christmas.

"It was fine, I got to spend some time with mum and dad," Hermione said quitely, heaving a heavy sigh.

She had had quite a few serious conversations with her parents over the holidays, and what pained her most—what she hadn't even considered before now—was the fact that she had essentially become an orphan with her parents still alive.

She almost never saw her mum and dad, and as of late, she didn't see much of her friends either. Briefly, she wondered if she even had any friends.

"That's good," Harry commented absently. "Listen, Hermione, would you like to join me and—"

"I have no intention of associating myself with Ronnie-Bunny, thank you very much," Hermione cut him off suddenly, crossing her arms.

"Ronnie-Bunny?" Harry repeated, astonished.

"Ronnie-Bunny, Wonder-Ron, Ron-Bon-Bon, Won-Roll, Won-Won, and thousands of other equally ridiculous variations," Hermione listed, disgusted. "Lavender has a whole special draping hanging over her bed."

"Over her bed?" Harry echoed weakly before catching himself. "Listen, Hermione… it's not right. Come on, don't sit like that by yourself… Join us—I promise Ron won't be there, although—"

"Join whom, Harry?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "If you're not talking about Ron, then who are you—"

But then she looked over Harry's shoulder and spotted Fay Dunbar sitting behind the study table the trio usually favoured in the common room. Harry noticed the direction of her gaze. He, too, looked over at Fay.

Hermione was astonished. Those two seemed to be communicating without words. The wheels began to turn in Hermione's head as she saw Harry nodding faintly in Fay's direction and Fay returning the gesture with an affirmative nod of her own.

"Harry…you know Fay Dunbar and I don't get along," Hermione told him quietly.

"Have you ever even tried?" Harry asked her seriously.

"Tried what?"

"To get along with her. I mean, you've been sharing the same dormitory for years."

"I've also shared the same dormitory with Parvati and Lavender, it doesn't mean anything." Hermione shrugged. "It's not different from having to share a dormitory with Dean and Seamus."

Harry winced a little. It was true. Neither of them had ever tried to make any real contact with the others.

"I know," he said, "but lately, I've been thinking… is it really right to shun everybody? I mean, we might as well get to know people…"

"Oh, _please._" Hermione let out a bitter laugh. "Do you really see us hanging out with someone who is convinced that the highest priority in life is choosing the right lipstick or someone who has insane delusions?"

"Who has insane delusions?" Harry asked.

Hermione gave him a plain you-know-perfectly-well-who look, tilting her head towards the table where Fay was still waiting for Harry and Hermione to come over.

Harry shook his head. "Fay is not insane."

"She considers the Quibbler a quality reading material and has the habit of sniffing rubbish cans," Hermione informed him.

"What has the Quibbler to do with anything?" Harry inquired, getting impatient. "Hermione lis—"

"Do you believe Cornelius Fudge has a pet Heliopath at home and bakes Goblin meat pies during his free time?" Hermione asked sceptically. "Harry, you have to admit that the bizarre hobbies this Dunbar girl has are not that different from Luna's imaginary creatures—"

"Such as Thestrals?" Harry rebutted.

Hermione had the decency to look ashamed.

"Yes, well, I was wrong about _them_, I admit it," she said hastily, "but Harry—"

"But _what_?" Harry asked, already losing hope. "Hermione, why don't you just try to be nice to her? It doesn't really cost you anything, does it? Remember how you once mentioned you'd never had many friends before Hogwarts?"

Hermione inhaled sharply.

Harry had hit a nerve. It was true. She had never had many friends before Hogwarts, and befriending Harry and Ron had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. It was wrong they had got alienated over the past weeks, not to mention she felt it was her duty to find out what was between Harry and this Dunbar.

Taking all this into consideration, she put her book aside and let Harry lead her over to the table where Fay was waiting.

"Fine, Harry, but I'm doing this only for you."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

As soon as they got seated, however, Harry was about to regret pressuring Hermione.

The girls stared at each other like the military generals of two opposite enemy camps, and when they greeted each other, they sounded stiff and unnatural.

Harry quickly glanced at Neville, who happened to be sitting nearby. The round-faced boy appeared to be confused at the very idea of Hermione sharing a table with Fay. In fact, the look on his face would have been positively comical, hadn't it been for the awkwardness of the situation.

"Fay Dunbar," Hermione greeted coldly.

"Hermione Granger," Fay returned just as stiffly. "Did you have nice holidays?"

Hermione didn't bother to reply.

"How about your holidays, Neville?" Harry asked desperately, trying to get the conversation to flow.

Thankfully, Neville moved closer. There wasn't really any point pretending he wasn't observing the entire thing, but Harry still appreciated the fact that the other boy was helping him out.

"My Gran wouldn't let me out much, but we did have a very nice Christmas dinner at Fay's place," Neville said.

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed, surprised, forgetting all frostiness, "I didn't know you were friends outside of school…"

"We've all known each other pretty much since childhood," Fay commented.

Hermione looked confused at this, and Harry thought he knew why. When he had first come to Hogwarts, he didn't know anybody, and neither did Hermione.

Fay saw Hermione's puzzlement.

"Wizard-born children tend to know each other," she clarified.

It was a mistake, however. If there were anything that got Hermione, it was the forced exclusion and the prejudice she had to endure merely because she happened to be a Muggle-born.

"I see," Hermione said, her ice-cold tone returning in full force. "I suppose it's just another form of exclusion on the part of the pure-bloods. I am not really surprised."

"WHAT?" Fay burst out. "I didn't say that!"

"It's not that, Hermione," Neville interfered gently. "It's just that Muggle-borns usually keep to themselves…"

"True, we keep to ourselves, but we wouldn't have to if it wasn't for the treatment we usually receive," Hermione reasoned, making both Fay and Neville look slightly ashamed. "Besides, it just shows, doesn't it? You could have invited your Muggle-born classmates for Christmas, but you obviously didn't."

"Oh, please," Fay said angrily before she could stop herself. "It's not like all Muggle-borns actively try to befriend _us_ to begin with. I mean, you only befriended Harry and Ronald Weasley but not anyone else. It's not really fair of you to blame it all on the 'pure-blood attitude'."

There was a brief silence until Neville spoke again.

"Hermione, I'm a pure-blood too. It's not entirely fair to think everybody's like"—he grimaced—"Malfoy."

Hermione didn't reply, she merely stared down at her hands.

"What does it matter who your mum and dad are?" Harry questioned suddenly, seeing how it was too late for the conversation to take any other turn. "Isn't it just a stupid prejudice?"

Fay looked up at Neville, who returned her gaze, both contemplating how they should begin to explain it.

It wasn't an easy matter, seeing how often this topic tended to end with nothing less than serious physical injuries.

"That's what I'd like to hear too," Hermione said with a little less venom in her voice. "How can one group of people simply decide they're above everyone else? It's hardly fair."

"Well," Fay drawled, hoping Neville would support her, "there's a little more to it… I mean, pure-bloods are not superior, so it's not that we _believe_ in a pure-blood superiority, but it's obvious that there _are_ differences."

"How so?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, Hermione is awesome at magic, much better than Malfoy…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione giving him a truly warm smile, but before he could fully return it, Fay was already speaking again.

"Okay, let's try to make it simple. Wizard-born children inherit their magic from their parents, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, as time goes by, that magical ability will be developed and refined in very specific ways. Parents encourage their children to practice the magic they themselves are good at, and so, over time, these families become known for being brilliant at some specific branch of magic."

"Dad was brilliant at Transfiguration!" Harry exclaimed, remembering the times when people had told him about James Potter's talent.

Fay nodded, pleased that Harry was catching on to her point.

"Exactly, that's what I'm talking about. Sometimes really rare talents emerge—like Parseltongue or the ability to be a Metaphormagus—but usually it's something like being good at mind arts such as Occlumency and Legilimency or having an affinity for Transfiguration."

"Hang on," Harry said, "you are related to McGonagall. How come you're… ah…"

"How come I suck at Transfiguration?" Fay asked, her lips twitching as if she were about to laugh. Beside her, Neville seemed to have already given in, and Hermione was too confused to laugh.

Harry grinned too. He'd been afraid Fay might react badly to criticism, but apparently, she knew she wasn't good at the subject and took it in a good humour.

"I was just getting to that," the girl assured him. "While talents do emerge, there are also certain patterns that repeat themselves, and it's also the reason why pure-bloods are careful when choosing a spouse…"

"Yeah, it's a big deal," Neville confirmed.

"So it _is_ about pure-blood superiority," Hermione exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew it! Let me guess, marrying a Muggle-born will somehow diminish the talent, isn't it? And that's why Lor—I mean You-Know-Who—thinks we're unworthy—"

"Not quite," Fay interrupted, heaving a sigh. "I would appreciate it if you let me finish."

Hermione huffed but let it go.

"As I was saying, these talents, while dominant in certain family lines, are also specific to those family lines, so maintaining them can be a tricky matter. If your child marries into another family, the child who is born from that union might then have the talent of that other family. And if there is a union with a Muggle-born, essentially the same thing happens."

"In other words," Neville added, "Fay here is a prime example of this principle: the Dunbar side messed things up, and now you're such an embarrassment to the Rosses that professor McGonagall won't even acknowledge your existence."

Fay grimaced at Neville for that, but it was plain they were bantering.

Harry and Hermione were left to stare at each other. There were apparently many subtleties they didn't quite understand.

"Malfoy's mother is a Black," Harry contemplated pensively.

"And yet he looks nothing like a Black," Fay finished for him. "A Malfoy to boot."

"Well, that's it then," Hermione said suddenly, rising from her chair. "If you don't mind, I still have a lot of studying to do…"

And without waiting for anyone's dismissal, she was gone. As Harry went after her, Fay and Neville were left to their own accord, also reflecting on their brief and slightly awkward conversation.

"I never knew Hermione was so… eh… affected by all that," Neville said, looking at Fay. "I mean, she's so confident, and she helps me with Potions."

"I was sort of suspecting it," Fay admitted. "I mean, she really tries, but no matter what she does, some people will always sneer at her. It's hard to deal with, I guess…"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Later that night, Fay found herself going down the hallway that led to the Trophy Room. It had been a while since she had gone out for her usual nocturnal wanderings. So long, if fact, that it felt almost surreal.

She had always kept a low profile, and there had never been a reason for anyone to seek her out. Just like Luna and Neville, she had always been more or less of an outsider. People often wondered why the three of them had never formed a more solid type of friendship rather than just a bizarre solidarity with one another, but the truth was that some people were just comfortable being alone. Not to mention that their respective interests were too different for them to find a common ground. Neville loved plants beyond anything, and Fay would most likely be bored out of her mind if she were to sit in the greenhouse all day long, even though her own mum owned a rather spectacular herb shop. And Luna would most likely feel spooked by Fay's investigation techniques—there were only a limited number of chances Luna was willing to take; not everybody was comfortable with sniffing at dustbins and eavesdropping in the restrooms.

The Trophy Room, however, was something of a secret haven for the three of them, and from times to times, they all felt the need to go down there in the middle of the night.

There weren't only trophies and old Quidditch rewards in that room, but also an entire wall lined with pictures of the Hogwarts past graduates. The pictures moved as she walked.

Her eyes flew automatically to the Ravenclaw '76 frame, where an adolescent girl with chiselled features, not so different from her own, looked proudly back at her. Her mum.

She tore her eyes away—she still felt betrayed.

Instead, she sought out the Gryffindor '72 frame, where her dad greeted her with a happy smile. She couldn't help but smile back.

"I wish you were here," she whispered to the picture. "I miss you so much."

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind her, and a bushy-haired profile appeared at the entrance.

"Granger?" Fay asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione stepped closer.

"You really shouldn't be here at this time of the night."

"Are you going to report me?"

"I really should," Hermione said seriously. "But I won't. I wanted to talk to you in private."

Fay opened her mouth but then nodded.

"Is it something important?" she asked, wondering why Granger would risk her prefect reputation bending rules like this.

Hermione didn't answer right away.

"It is important for me," she said at last.

"All right," Fay agreed absently. "Is it about Harry?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You've become a lot more vigilant around me than you used to be. You would largely ignore me before, but lately, you've been trying to follow me around. You've also been asking questions about me, and I know you discuss me with Harry."

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted uncomfortably. "Harry is my friend…"

"And you are looking out for him," Fay finished matter-of-factly. "It's understandable."

"Aren't you angry?" Hermione pried.

"On the contrary, your latest actions have made me respect you more than I used to."

Hermione hadn't been expecting this.

"I looked through your stuff," she admitted feebly.

"I know, you didn't hide your traces well," Fay dismissed. "But for all your trouble, you obviously didn't find what you were looking for, did you? Or else we wouldn't be having this conversation and breaking the curfew rule."

Hermione sighed.

"What were you looking for in here?" she asked Fay.

"My dad," Fay answered, pointing at the picture.

"I didn't know your dad was in Gryffindor," Hermione commented.

"He was," Fay confirmed. "I wonder if they knew each other…"

"Your parents?" Hermione questioned, thinking it was a weird thing to be wondering about. "I'm sure they must have—how else could you have been born?"

Fay stared at her and then genuinely burst out laughing, muffling the sound with her scarf. It was the closest thing to a joke Hermione Granger had ever said.

"No, I meant my parents and Harry's—look, they're right here."

She pointed out at the Gryffindor '78 frame, where Lily Evans and James Potter were waving at them among the other Gryffindors.

"Oh," Hermione said, "right. Listen Fay, you're right to think it's Harry I want to talk to you about."

"I guessed as much. Let it out."

"What are you playing at?" Hermione demanded at once, her posture shifting towards a more defensive one.

"I'm not playing at anything," Fay answered honestly. "What makes you think I am? Harry and I have bonded over… a common goal. He must have told you."

"I saw you with Draco Malfoy. It looked like you were out on a date."

"Really? Where did you see us?"

"Do you have the gall to deny it?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"I am not denying it," Fay assured. "Draco really came to see me. I told Harry about it. But where did you see us?"

"I was shopping at Diagon Alley, and I glimpsed the two of you entering one of the dining places," Hermione said. "Listen, Harry is my friend, and I will not let anyone take advantage of him. Consider it a warning if you want."

"I wouldn't doubt it, you are a very good friend, Hermione Granger."

"Don't try to flatter me, it won't work."

"Oh, I am not flattering you," Fay assured. "I was merely making an observation. You are rather narrow-minded, and you tend to boss people around, but you have obviously proven yourself to be a loyal friend. Last year, when everybody made fun of Harry, you didn't stop being his friend for a moment."

Hermione appeared to be taken aback at Fay's declaration; she continued looking for any signs of ridicule in Fay's face, but found none. She didn't know what to make of it. She had deliberately followed Fay around after their conversation, wanting to confront her about her true motives. She had expected denials and accusations, and she'd even brought her wand in case things got escalated, but instead, Fay Dunbar hadn't denied she'd seen Malfoy, and on top of that, she claimed to have already told Harry everything. She had even sort of paid her a compliment.

A rude, backhanded compliment, but still.

"I need you to return to the dormitory, Dunbar," she told the other girl lamely.

"Well, I can't talk back to a prefect, can I now?"

Hermione didn't answer. She escorted Fay back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Neither of them saw Draco Malfoy looking over at them from one of the staircases two floors above.

* * *

**An: **Alright, here's my little Christmas gift to you.

I promise this is the worst of Hermione we've seen. Her position needs to be understood a little - both boys sort of ditched her again, and there is a lot of tension with Voldemort now being in the open. She's hurt and distrusting and reacts in a wounded manner, not to mention that her character _could_ be more open-minded. However, the first move has been done now, and it'll get better.

Huge thanks to **Tarpeia** for beta-reading on a record speed.


	15. Chapter 15: Drama in the Lions' Den

He was tired again. Even from that far, the bags under his eyes were still visible. And predictably, he seemed to prefer starch- and sugar-rich foods again.

On either side of him, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be sullen about something. Pansy, dismayed.

Fay continued to stare. It was positively maddening. What was he up to? The green copper dust she'd accidentally destroyed obviously testified that at some point, he had been in contact with copper. His much-priced family heirloom, which had originally belonged to 'Nicolas Malefoy', Draco's ancestor from the 14th century, definitely demonstrated that Draco had been researching something, or else Draco would have never risked having the tome in his dormitory, where it could have easily been stolen.

What could Draco have possibly been researching, and how was it connected to the copper dust? Moreover, it was questionable if there even _was_ a connection in the first place.

Fay racked her brains. What had happened in the 14th century?

Nicolas Malefoy was rumoured to have dispatched many Muggle tenants under the guise of the Black Death, but it had never been proven. Either way, only the Malfoy family could know for sure, but something told Fay it wasn't his personal history Draco was looking into.

So what else had happened back then?

It had been a difficult time for Muggles, what with the plague killing a significant part of their population across the whole continent. Muggles had been distraught and prone to blame the 'evil forces', which had promptly led them to persecute the suspected witches. This had been the time when Wendelin the Weird had made his way into the history books.

The game of Stichstock had also died out at about the same epoch, and Quidditch had gained popularity instead. Elfrida Clagg had succeeded Burdock Muldoon as the Chief of the Wizards' Council and had started working on the 'Magical Species Protection Act'.

This was as much as she could remember for now, and none of it was likely to constitute Draco's possible source of interest. For a moment, she wished she had Hermione Granger's brilliant memory.

But no, what Draco was looking for had to be something specific, something he could use, and probably something connected to Hogwarts.

So, it was very possible she should have researched the history of Hogwarts instead. Maybe this was the answer. Although, she still failed to see any connection between Draco's probable research subject and the copper dust.

Daphne Greengrass caught her staring and nudged Pansy. Fay hastily looked away, stuffing something into her mouth without even looking at it.

The last thing she needed was some kind of ridiculous rumour about her being into Draco Malfoy. Nobody aside from Harry and Hermione Granger knew about their 'date', and Fay wished it to stay this way.

Someone appeared in her peripheral view, and to her mild surprise, she saw Hermione Granger approaching to take a seat right in front of her.

"Good morning," she greeted. "May I join you?"

"Wha—erm, good morning, Hermione," Fay answered awkwardly, wondering how exactly she should address the other girl now that they had had a little frank chat in the Trophy Room. "Sure. Err… please, take a seat."

"Thank you. Have you seen Harry?"

"Not today," Fay answered. "I thought he'd be having breakfast with you."

"No, either he has already eaten or he decided to skip breakfast altogether."

"Right," Fay said again, wondering now about Harry.

Harry had appeared frustrated about something on the train, and since the beginning of that year's term, he had been somehow less around than usual.

If Fay were absolutely honest with herself, it sort of bothered her. For all she knew, he could be avoiding her on purpose. She obviously wasn't doing a good job at discovering whatever Draco was up to, and she had also given him advice about Ginny, which might have had resulted in a major catastrophe Harry simply hadn't told her about.

For the first time in a while, Fay found herself questioning her own so-called brilliance: her 'detective knowledge' seemed about as useful as a pile of rubbish, and as to relationships, even Argus Filch appeared to be leading a way more exciting love life than she was. She'd seen him with Mrs Pince, and it had been obvious on the occasion they were closer than just colleagues.

"It's not really like Harry to skip breakfast… I wonder what's keeping him," Hermione mused a tad worriedly

"I met Ritchie and Demelza earlier, they were packing food to take with them to the pitch," Fay said, unknowingly calming Hermione a little. "When Seamus asked them about it, they said it was for the Captain, so it seems Harry's just busy."

Hermione nodded, but decided to go to the pitch herself to make sure.

"When does the training start?" she asked.

"At noon. We couldn't book the pitch earlier because Ravenclaw wouldn't let us."

Hermione nodded again, and for a while, the girls just ate in silence.

After a few spoonfuls, however, Fay couldn't ignore Hermione's fidgeting anymore. It was obvious the other girl wanted to say something.

Before Fay could really prompt her to talk, however, Jimmy Peakes landed on an empty seat right beside her.

"Hey, babes," he greeted confidently, in a somewhat pushy and definitely overbearing manner.

Fay stared, and so did Hermione.

"Jimmy," Fay greeted back cautiously, "are you feeling all right? The term 'baby' refers to a small child, and as far as I can see, nobody in the hall fits these criteria."

"What? Ah, no, I said 'babes', not babies—you don't get it, do you?"

Jimmy shook his head in disbelief as his fellow fourth years observed his interaction with the older girls—some openly grinning, some making what looked like encouraging gestures.

Jimmy didn't seem to cope with the pressure.

"Never mind, I guess being the captain's girl, you're sort off limits," he said, leaving Fay even more clueless.

"What captain's girl? I don't—"

"Here, that's from him," Jimmy cut off, handing her a piece of parchment before turning to Hermione and opening his mouth to say something undoubtedly ridiculous, but then changing his mind.

"What was that all about?" Fay wondered.

She looked over at Hermione but got nothing from her.

"What does the message say?" Hermione wondered instead.

Fay opened it.

It was written indeed in Harry's handwriting.

_Fay,_

_Wind is strong today. Easily-swayed brooms will slow us down. No need to get panicky, but please ask Hermione to take a look at some of the old school brooms. Even if she isn't able to fix any, she can at least tell us if it's safe to use them (Peakes somehow managed to break his broom, so we're one broom short). _

_Even an old broom will have to do for now!_

_Dangerous it may be, but what can we do?_

_Today we will have an extra half an hour of practice, so I prepared a new routine. _

_Ordinary routine won't do, but I think this one will be great. _

_Take something warm for your hands and tell the others to do the same. Long hair will be a hindrance, make sure the girls know. _

_Knowledgeable preparation is the key to success._

"Well?" Hermione prompted.

"It's… it's just Quidditch stuff," Fay said, trying to sound natural.

Hermione spotted her unease, though.

"May I take a look?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure. Here you go. In fact, you're mentioned too."

She handed the message to Hermione, her face neutral.

After a moment, Hermione gave the note back to her.

"Well, it does seem to be just a Quidditch-related note from Harry. Sounds like he's been really busy, although I'm surprised Harry would send it to you and not Ginny…"

"Weren't you about to tell me something before Jimmy interrupted?" Fay asked hastily.

"Yes, I was," Hermione agreed. "Listen, about last night… I kept thinking it through, and I feel that I should explain myself. It's just that… I don't like this ridiculous 'investigation business' at all. I am convinced that it's bad for Harry. And I feel that I have to explain, so that you would understand and… leave him alone."

"Oh," Fay managed, trying to swallow her hurt. "Well, I'm listening."

"You see, Harry and Ron have always been my best friends… and even if we fight, they're still my best friends."

Hermione looked at Fay, willing her to understand, but Fay had suddenly taken fancy to Harry's note as if trying to decode it.

"I was alarmed when Harry started spending time with you… I mean, now that every other girl is determined to get close to him only because of that stupid _Chosen One_ title, I just thought you were no different. And well, you are good at Potions…"

"I see how your reasoning is logical," Fay said impassively, still staring at the note. "I assume this is why you went through my stuff, isn't it? To find evidence that I've been feeding Harry a love potion."

"Well, Romilda Vane threatened to do it," Hermione answered a tad defensively.

"You already know that I am not angry with you for looking out for your friend. Besides, you've seen I have nothing to hide. And in case you were wondering, then I am absolutely against any form of depriving another human being of free will. In fact, don't even get me started on that subject—as far as I'm concerned, love potions are just as horrible as the Imperius Curse because they render the victim absolutely defenceless against the evil manipulation—"

"I know you're not a bad person, Fay," Hermione interrupted. "It's just that I don't want Harry to get in trouble."

"And why do you think I should get him in trouble?" Fay asked desperately.

"You almost did with all this"—Hermione looked around for possible eavesdroppers and lowered her voice dramatically—"_dungeon expedition_."

Fay flushed.

Their 'dungeon expedition', as Hermione had put it, had been a tad reckless and not very well thought out, not to mention she and Harry had both underestimated Draco.

"I didn't want to get anyone in trouble," she muttered feebly.

"But you almost did," Hermione accused soberly. "It was a stroke of luck things took the direction they did… But that's not what worries me most."

"So what does worry you most?" Fay asked, not sure if she wanted to hear more.

"I don't know if Harry's told you, but last year had been difficult for him with Umbridge and all. And what's happening is that Harry is trying to distract himself clinging onto some nonsense which doesn't exist, and _you_ help him to fuel that obsession—"

"Listen to yourself!" Fay exclaimed suddenly, her anger flaring. "He is your best friend, and you won't even _consider_ giving him the benefit of a doubt! Didn't it cross your mind that such a dismissive attitude could cause him even more harm than any 'obsession' he might have? And besides, it is _not_ an obsession. Harry has every reason to have his doubts, and I fully share his opinion!"

"You're impossible!" Hermione gaped, taking deep, calming breaths so that her voice would stay as low and controlled as possible. "Do you _really_ think You-Know-Who would recruit someone who hasn't even finished Hogwarts yet?! He's not daft!"

"Yes," Fay answered, staring at Hermione straight and square, "yes, I really think so. In fact, that wouldn't be such a daft move at all. At the very least, he needs inside information, and even if he had spies among the teaching staff, professors still wouldn't know everything that is happening in the school. It is only practical of him to have followers in the student body as well."

For a moment, Fay contemplated if she should tell Hermione how Draco had been trying to find out which side _she _was on and how he had even threatened her subtly—Hermione Granger really seemed to have no idea how enemy intelligence worked in the first place, despite being unarguably one of the most capable witches in the whole school—but decided against it. Hermione wouldn't take her seriously. She had firmly decided that Fay was simply paranoid and obsessed with detective stories. Her long history of false and often ridiculous discoveries didn't help.

"Look," Fay said as Hermione opened her mouth to respond to her monologue, "let's agree on something. I will continue keeping an eye on that 'nonsense', as you call it, and I will do so as independently as possible because I _am_ convinced there is more to it. I can't promise you not to involve Harry at all because he is interested in this story as much as I am, and the decision is his, but I can promise you right now that I will do everything in my power to keep everybody from trouble, all right?"

"I suppose," Hermione answered tiredly, wondering if the other girl's stubbornness knew any limits. "But I want you to tell me if something stupid occurs to you again."

At that moment, there wasn't anything else to say, so they just ate in a somewhat heavily loaded silence.

Fay used that time to decipher the message as discreetly as she could.

There were quite a few things amiss.

First, why was the message addressed to her? She was merely a reserve Chaser, temporarily replacing Katie, and it would have made more sense to direct the message to Ginny, who was as good as Harry's second in command.

It would have made even more sense to direct the message to Ginny, seeing how Harry wanted Hermione to perform a few spells on the school brooms. After all, Harry knew it would have been much easier for Ginny to ask for Hermione's help than it would have been for Fay.

And last, since when was Harry throwing around such phrases as '_Knowledgeable preparation is the key to success'_?

It wasn't like him.

After examining the message carefully, Fay finally understood. It was a simple acrostic code. She only had to pay attention to the first letter of every sentence, which were 'WENEEDTOTALK'.

A perfectly clear message: 'We need to talk'.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Parvati caught up with her just as Fay was about to go down to the pitch.

For once, luck was on Fay's side: Hermione had already finished her breakfast and left the table.

"You're still here," the Indian girl said, panting. "Good. Because I really need to talk to you. I've been trying to get you for one on one talk for days now, but you're always stuck somewhere."

"What's wrong, Parvati?" Fay asked, peeking carefully across the hall again.

Parvati noticed the direction of her gaze.

"Who are you looking for?"

_Draco, _Fay thought, but for appearance's sake, she just shrugged and made it look as if she were checking if the rest of her teammates were still there.

"Oh, don't worry, you won't be late," Parvati assured her. "I'll make it quick, but pay attention."

"You're making me nervous, Parvati," Fay said honestly.

"That's because I am nervous, and you should be too—we are about to face some serious drama."

"Trust me, I've already faced some serious drama, and now I'm drained," Fay admitted, for once understanding Luna's reasoning about Gryffindor being sometimes a bit overwhelming. She was actually developing a headache from all this 'best friend protection' act on the part of the girls.

"Whatever you've faced, it was just a little warm-up piece compared to the drama we are both about to face," Parvati insisted without sparing her. "I took a leaf from your book and followed Lavender around a little."

"I don't understand. Why would you spy on Lavender? Aren't you girls sharing everything anyway?"

"I only spy on her when she's with Ronald Weasley," Parvati clarified as if it were normal for friends to spy on their best friends while they were spending time with their boyfriends.

Fay didn't comment, she merely stared at Parvati with a flummoxed expression, waiting for the other girl to elaborate.

"Anyway, what I saw wasn't good: Ronald doesn't care about Lavender at all!" Parvati announced. "You know, I had my doubts, but now I know for sure. Lav's practically mooning over him, and he just wants to complain about stuff to her. This is not how people behave when they're in love. When you're in love, you hold hands and look each other in the eye as if the rest of the world didn't exist, and you take _interest_ in the other person. Ronald Weasley is not doing anything like that. Lavender is the one holding hands and adoring him with a loving gaze and actually taking interest in the things he says; Weasley, on the other hand, just uses her as a listening ear to vent to her. And to make matters worse, he always vents about Hermione Granger."

"Really?" Fay gaped. "That's…"

"Awful?" Parvati supplied. "Tell me about it. Lavender is going to have her heart crushed, but that's not the worst there is to it."

"What can be worse than that?"

"The fact that Hermione's jealous, and Lavender's never seen her from a good side in the first place. And now Ronald Weasley had been drilling it into her that Hermione Granger's some kind of obnoxious control maniac, which—while not completely unfounded—is not quite true either. If you ask me, it's like Weasley only dates Lavender to get back at Granger or something."

"What are you thinking, Parvati?" Fay asked.

"I'm afraid there will be a fight between them at some point, and this is where things will get really difficult for you and me as well. We all share the dormitory…"

"I see your concern," Fay stated carefully. "But why are you telling _me_ about it?"

"I was hoping you would help me think of something because I've fretted myself silly over this… Padma says I should let it be but Lavender is my best friend, and I need to open her eyes as gently as possible before something major happens."

"Right, all right. Err… here's what we'll do," Fay stammered before taking a deep breath. "We'll approach this problem as sensibly as we possibly can. Right now, you are very upset, and it's not helping. So you will go down to the kitchen and ask the house-elves for a hot chocolate. I will go to practice now and will think about it. Maybe there is a way to sit down and talk things clear."

Fay made sure to sound reassuring and calm, although she sincerely doubted her own proposal. Her experience told her that nothing about the challenging discussions was 'calm and rational'—especially in the House of Lions.

There was going to be a drama in the den, possibly even that night. Parvati was right to be apprehensive, but at the moment, there was nothing to do, and Padma was most probably right. It was better not to push the events.

Suddenly, Fay found herself half-considering taking her sleeping bag and seeking refuge either in the boys' dormitory or in the Ravenclaw Tower. She was sure neither Neville nor Luna nor even Harry would mind, but there would be a lot of complications. The first option was out of the picture because there were also Ronald, Dean, and Seamus to think of, not to mention that Minerva would give her an earful if she actually _did _camp in the boys' dormitory. As to Ravenclaw Tower, now that was a more appealing option. The door leading to the Ravenclaw Common Room didn't open with a password but with a riddle one had to answer. It was asked by the bronze eagle-shaped knocker guarding the entrance.

However, what many people didn't realise was that the eagle-shaped knocker had a mind of its own. If the knocker sensed an intruder trying to get in, it could very easily start pestering them with impossible riddles all night long, and this kind of sleepover definitely didn't sound appealing to Fay… not to mention that Luna could get in trouble because of her.

There seemed to be no escape.

The only good news was that Parvati seemed to agree she was overreacting.

"You're right, I need to calm down. Have a great training." The girl still sounded miserable.

Fay nodded and walked away, grateful to get a breathing space for a while.

The corridors were already mostly deserted. It was Saturday, and everybody was using their free time for either studying or relaxing somewhere.

She was already late, though—she'd spent too much time on the girls' talk, if one could call it that—so she started to run. If she took a shortcut by jumping from one of the moving staircases onto another, she'd get into a corridor that was closer to the exi—'

'AAAARGH!

Something caught her around the ankles when she least expected it, and she fell spectacularly, skidding at least five feet on her back before coming to a halt.

The pain from her fall was so dazzling that she saw stars. She wasn't prepared for the disarming spell that followed.

'_Expelliarmus,_' a familiar voice called out, and her wand flew out of her pocket.

"Trip Jinx, Dunbar," Vincent Crabbe said, appearing to her view as she tried to get up.

Fay had rarely heard him speak, and perhaps it was due to her nasty fall, but she genuinely found herself struggling associating his voice with his physical appearance. For such a large and overweight young man who rather resembled a gorilla, his voice was deceptively soft and smooth.

"Have you lost your mind? What do you think you're doing?" she demanded angrily.

"Passing you a message. Draco wants to have a word. And don't make a fuss, I have your wand right here."

* * *

**An: **I swear I'm not trying to tease you by constantly delaying further development. The thing is that I think all this teen drama needs to get out of the way, or else it'll make no sense if the girls will "suddenly" find a way to get over the issues they have and start cooperating all of a sudden...I guess these things slightly bothered me in canon how everything was apparently forgiven without any apologies, and so I am trying to escape that scenario...So, here you go, another quick update, or else this chapter would have been too long.

My usual "thanks" to **Tarpeia** and as to your suggestion about these girls needing a boyfriend - that's Gryffindor nature for you - sometimes just overly _helpful._


	16. Chapter 16: Answers?

Fay weighed her chances, staggering after Crabbe.

Vincent Crabbe had always showed a little more malice than Gregory Goyle had, even though the majority of people didn't really see any difference between those two.

Fortunately, luck was on her side once again. Just as they headed for the Tapestry Corridor, Professor Flitwick suddenly emerged from the viaduct leading towards the Potions staircase.

Fay seized her chance.

"Professor Flitwick!" she bellowed despite the fact that the Charms Professor was at a fairly great distance. "Good morning, Professor! It's so good to see you!"

Flitwick looked up as Crabbe stumbled upon his own big feet.

"Miss Dunbar," Flitwick greeted back, "it's nice to see you, too. Going to the Quidditch practice, I see."

As the teacher spoke, his eyes shifted to Fay's bizarre choice of company.

"Mr Crabbe, good morning to you, too," Flitwick said pointedly, albeit good-naturedly.

Crabbe just grunted, seemingly at a loss. Meeting a professor definitely wasn't something he had foreseen.

It was now only a matter of using that fact.

"I was just going to the Quidditch practice when Vincent here"—Fay motioned towards Crabbe—"decided it'd be fun to remind me of Slytherin's good chances of winning the Cup this year…"

Flitwick nodded kindly. "As long as you keep this rivalry friendly, I have no objections. Alas, when Quidditch was invented back in the 14th century, it symbolised a peaceful event which meant to demonstrate the joys of the sport…"

"Oh, well, you know how Gryffindors and Slytherins get, Sir—we can't always help it," Fay invented, trying to add a tad of mischievousness into her voice, though she doubted Flitwick was fooled. "In fact, Vincent pleasantly surprised me. I fell, and my wand flew out of my pocket, you see… and Vincent was just about to give it back to me. I never knew you were so gallant, Vincent…"

The last part was meant only for Crabbe, and to her immense satisfaction, Fay saw an unmistakably cornered expression on the boy's face. His eyelid twitched involuntarily.

There was no other option for him but to return her wand, which he promptly did, looking sullen.

"You still need to talk to Draco—your captain will be interested in what we have to say," Crabbe grunted. "It's about Quidditch."

"Well, I'll hold you no longer," Flitwick told the teens. "I'm fairly sure Gryffindor has already started the practice, so you'd better hurry up."

"Thank you, Professor, I will," Fay said politely as Flitwick bypassed them.

Once out of his hearing range, there were just the two of them left again.

"Happy now, are you?" Crabbe asked. "Think you're so clever hiding behind the half-goblin's back? Potter at least fights back. You are nothing but a coward."

Fay had expected this, and while it didn't make Crabbe's accusations any more pleasant, she still had her wand back, and she could use it… even if only to attack Crabbe with a Tickling Charm or something, but still…

"I believe this makes three questions," the girl said much more calmly than she actually felt. "To answer your first question, no, I am not happy at the moment. As to your second question, then yes, I do think that I am fairly intelligent; and lastly, in case you haven't noticed, I am not Harry Potter."

"Let's go, Draco is waiting," Crabbe simply declared, ignoring her.

She could refuse. She could run, but something told her it was better to hear what Draco had to say; so she ignored the pain in her arm from the fall and followed Vincent down the Potions staircase, from which Professor Flitwick had emerged earlier.

Draco was waiting behind one of the pillars.

Normally, there would be a lot of students passing through that dungeon hall, but on Saturdays, it was empty. Fay thought she understood why Draco had chosen that spot. There were no portraits there. Not many escape paths, either.

_Just great._

"Bloody difficult to get some privacy in this place," Draco drawled as if reading her mind. "Glad you could make it."

Fay snorted, giving a side glance to Crabbe.

"A message so brash was difficult to ignore—you sure you wanted me down here in one piece and coherent?"

At this, Draco gave a suspicious glance to his friend. Crabbe just shrugged.

"Sorry about that. Vince here takes everything way too literally…"

"I bet. What in Merlin's name was so important then?"

Her question was forceful. Quite a change from the almost friendly interaction she had had with Draco during the holidays. Maybe it was the change of atmosphere: maybe the rivalry and the mutual dislike Gryffindors and Slytherins tended to feel one for another was somehow reinforced when they were back at school. Or maybe it was the pain she was still feeling after her fall, but something was different.

Yes, the parents of them both were pure-bloods and important enough for them to have crossed paths, so there _was _a kind of solidarity between her and Draco which didn't exist between other families, even if pure-blood. But still, something was about to change. It was almost as if they were coming to some kind of invisible point where a solidarity based on the same background didn't matter anymore.

"You know, I thought you were smarter," Draco stated. "But apparently, I've misjudged you."

"I see," Fay rebutted. "What's your point? You hardly asked dear old _Vince_"—she used the nickname deliberately to highlight her sarcasm—"to bring me here only to insult me."

"Remember how I told you at _Le Goût du Sortilège_ that sooner or later, you'd have to decide whose side you'd rather be on?" Draco asked impassively.

"Oh, is this what it's all about?" Fay asked back, still keeping her tone sarcastic. "Well, in that case, I think you should know I'm rather of solitary nat—"

"Of solitary nature?" Draco finished for her. "Please, don't make laugh. If you _really _were of solitary nature, you wouldn't cling on to the first dude who actually decided to have a small talk with you."

"What are you talking about?" Fay asked, not liking where it was going.

By the change in Fay's voice, Draco knew immediately that he had the superior hand in this game.

"Isn't it obvious what I'm talking about?" he asked innocently. "I saw you the other night, accompanied by that bucktoothed Mudblood Granger—and look at you, you're not serving a detention for breaking the curfew rule."

"And?" Fay asked again, deciding not to deny anything for now.

"It so happens that I know Granger. She's predictable, you see, just like the rest of the morons in Gryffindor. Granger wouldn't have decided not to report you if you weren't one of Potter's admirers. Do you think I haven't noticed the pattern over the years? Saint Potter and his gang get away with things nobody else would have been allowed to even _dream_ of getting away with. Congratulations, you are obviously a part of the gang now, although it's kind of pathetic…"

"Did I hear that right?" Fay asked, getting upset now. "Did you just use the word 'pathetic' in my regard?"

"Well, how else would you call it?" Draco asked, deliberately keeping his tone conversational. "I mean, it's understandable when the Weasley trollop kneels down in front of the Scarface. Seeing how her whole family sleeps in the same room, I bet she's ready to please Potter in every way he could possibly want as long as he pays her well. But you… now that's really sad. Was Potter the very first person who had even _bothered _to talk to you in the six years you've spent at Hogwarts?"

Fay stared.

She had to admit Draco was an expert when it came to humiliation. What was worse, he'd also hit a nerve.

She had always been an outsider. Sure, at first she had hung out with Anna—a Muggle-born girl who had soon left Hogwarts because she couldn't handle it and simply missed her parents too much—but ever since then, she would silently lurk in her corner and dream that one day, she'd become a confident and successful Auror. And if Harry hadn't accidentally come to her compartment this year, it would have stayed that way.

Nobody really knew her, and nobody really cared, and so Harry _was_ the first person who'd ever bothered to have a conversation with her. Because while there were also Luna and Neville, they weren't really friends, merely outsiders who knew each other from outside the school and would, therefore, maintain a fairly distant but cordial relationship with one another.

Still, while Draco's bitterly truthful words hurt, she couldn't show it.

"Well done, Draco," she said in her best neutral voice. "Except you are trying a little too hard to cram up the insults. Why don't you get straight to the real point? I've got errands to run."

"Don't say I didn't warn you—you are playing a very dangerous game. Associating yourself with a marked man will not end well, and if you had a brain, you would have considered my offer."

"You know, Draco, there is one problem I have with the _offer_ you are talking about: it lacks transparency," Fay declared, deciding to be frank. "Is that 'offer' even _yours_ to extend in the first place? Because, quite honestly, I doubt it."

"What the hell are you saying?" the boy spat out, sensing that the balance was about to shift.

"It's really simple. Listen to yourself speaking of the _sides_ as if you knew all the inside-outs. Do you even realise what this conflict could mean? How do you know you are not being used as a tool to achieve someone else's goal? I mean, we both know what it's really all about even if we don't say it out loud."

"Have you ever stopped to listen to what Mudbloods think about us?" Draco contradicted her suddenly.

"Well… I…"

"I'll tell you what they think," Draco continued, not waiting for her answer. "They think they are superior. They come from their pathetic and corrupted Muggle world, full of flashy objects and gadgets, and think they have an enormous advantage over us. If you ask them about it, they'll tell you immediately that we, wizards, are stupid and outdated, that we should try and be more like them. They don't even try to respect us—so why should we? And if the Dark Lord sets this right, so be it."

Fay closed her mouth, forgetting what she had been about to say. She could _sort of_ see where Draco's point of view was coming from. Even the most brilliant of Muggle-borns like Hermione Granger were sometimes a little narrow-minded despite being really smart and could sometimes be a little harsh. Nobody liked to be laughed at or insulted, but Draco was obviously confusing two entirely different concepts.

"It's in the human nature to compare everything new to the things we are already familiar with," she said at last. "You can't really reason that way… I mean, it's not easy for them, either. They come to an alien environment and are immediately expected to know all the subtleties."

"Yes, yes, poor little Mudbloods," Draco waved her off. "Can't even put two and two together after _years_ of having been a part of the wizarding community. But of course, as soon as wizards dare to criticise them, they are immediately seen as villains… What can I say? It's a little too late for philosophy. The present regime will be crushed sooner than you think, and all those filthy losers will go down with it. Too bad you've picked the losers' side."

"Right," Fay said. "Is that it then?"

"Yes, I think so," he drawled, his face morphing into a slightly patronising expression. "I suppose Scarface must be really worth it since you've betrayed your own people to cover his sorry back. In fact, it will be interesting to see how it turns out for you. Traitors are not well-loved. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He motioned for Vincent to get going, his whole demeanour insanely superior.

Fay remained still in her stupor as the boys left. There remained nothing to be said.

It was clear that her weird interaction with Draco had reached a dead end and that this had most likely been their last encounter.

The word 'pathetic'echoed in the empty dungeon, mixed with the sounds of Slytherins' footsteps.

Vincent was trailing behind Draco like a bodyguard, and just before he disappeared behind the pillar, Fay saw something: the muscles in Vincent's arm seemed to be twitching involuntarily as if he couldn't really help it.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

If there had ever been a moment when Harry thought he could be satisfied with his captaincy skills, it was probably today.

The workout routine he'd come up with was, in a way, his variation of both volleyball and handball in the air, so the players who usually had a different role could train slightly different skills while also trying out something new. Surprisingly, Jimmy had turned out to be exceptionally good at blocking the other team's goals. In a case of emergency, it was even possible for him and Ron to switch positions.

If they continued to train just as effectively, Slytherin definitely wouldn't be a threat anymore, even though the serpents had just outplayed Hufflepuff, which placed them second after Gryffindor. Either way, everybody seemed to have fun. Ginny even proposed voting on the 'Best Captain' title, strongly hinting that Harry had a good chance of getting one. Ritchie, Jimmy, and Ron pointed out how desperately Harry needed another title.

"Yeah, mate, this way people will at least know who you are," Ron told him seriously.

"Definitely," Ritchie agreed just as seriously. "Otherwise it's like 'Harry _who'_?"

They all laughed, but it still was nice that Ginny appreciated his approach. She was one of their best players, and her opinion carried weight.

Hermione was present too, for which he was grateful—and apparently, so was Jimmy, seeing how eager he seemed to thank her for helping him out with the broom every two minutes or so.

Demelza found it incredibly funny.

The only missing person was Fay. She had failed to come to the training, even though Hermione had sworn the other girl had got his message. It certainly was weird.

Harry was already contemplating going looking for her once the workout ended, but Tonks intercepted him.

"We're going to Hagrid's," she announced. "Is Hermione coming too?"

Harry motioned for Hermione to come over, which she promptly did after placing the last school broom into the cupboard and sealing its door with her wand. The team had already gone to the showers. Harry had warned them he'd pump up the trainings to three times a week.

"Hi, Tonks," Hermione greeted. "Nice to see you. Were you patrolling? "

"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks answered brightly. "Yep, that's exactly what I was doing. So much interesting stuff going on here—I had honestly forgotten how dramatic Hogwarts could be."

"So do you have a plan? " Harry asked, a tad impatient.

Ever since Tonks had seen Rufus Scrimgeour try to use Harry for his political campaign, she had started to show more interest for how much information Harry was receiving.

It had come as a surprise, and Harry couldn't quite help but feel a little angry rather than grateful. After all, why hadn't Tonks bothered the previous year, when he had been desperate to get someone to share _anything_ with him? Why now? Sirius was dead, and Voldemort was still hunting Harry.

In the end, it had all escalated into Tonks flat out demanding that he get it out of his chest. Harry had spent almost fifteen minutes ranting about how everybody kept hiding stuff for him, not believing him, and then acting like nothing had ever happened. He had almost blurted out about the Prophecy before coming to a halt.

Tonks had listened patiently, and when Harry had got tired of yelling, she had told him very calmly how it all looked from her perspective: how she had been approached by the Order, how they were all operating on very limited information because Dumbledore simply wouldn't give them anything to rely on, and how Sirius's condition had deteriorated unknowingly to any of them, since Headmaster was keeping the Order members separated to avoid arousing any suspicion. There hadn't been any reason for her to pay attention to the overall picture until it was too late.

There had been a heavy silence when they had finished talking, but starting from then, something had shifted between them. Tonks wasn't going to replace Sirius—nobody ever would—but it was nice to have an adult who cared.

"What plan are you two talking about? " Hermione asked, bringing them back to reality.

"Tonks is going to give us some Auror training," Harry explained. "I took your advice and tried to occupy myself with something useful."

"That's great, Harry," Hermione praised. "I was afraid you were getting immersed in that horrible book and that Malfoy obsession, which is—"

Before Harry could answer, Tonks beat him to it.

"Blimey, Hermione, you can't go around throwing phrases like 'that Malfoy obsession'—have you ever stopped to think what people would assume?"

"No," Hermione admitted, not understanding Tonks. "What?"

"Never mind," Tonks said. "You will understand when you grow up. Right now, just promise me not to yell anything like that. And it's not an obsession."

"Tonks, Harry thinks Malfoy is doing something for You-Know-Who. I mean, it can't possibly—"

"Which is _exactly_ what my dearest baby cousin is doing, and he is very adept at hiding it," Tonks told Hermione seriously, making the girl's jaw drop.

If an _Auror_ was certain there was something going on, it definitely wasn't the same to Hermione as Harry and Fay stating the same.

"I know," Tonks confessed, looking at Hermione's dumbfounded expression, "it actually _hurts_ to admit he is not as stupid as he looks. Which brings us back to our training—is Ron joining us as well?"

"Not today, he's… otherwise occupied," Harry said carefully, not wanting to upset Hermione.

It was very difficult to understand what was going on between her and Ron these days. They had started the year sort of fancying each other, but then Hermione had asked McLaggen to accompany her to Slughorn's party, only to be dumped by the obnoxious boy, and Ron had started dating Lavender, even though it was clear he didn't even like her. If anything, Ron had acquired the look of a prey that was about to be mauled by an angry bear every time Lavender approached to give him a kiss. It actually wasn't really fair towards the girl; while overly affectionate perhaps, Lavender was a good person in her own way.

"Right," Tonks mused. "Is it going to be you, Hermione, and Faith then? Where is she, by the way?"

"Fay," Harry corrected automatically. "It's really funny; she didn't show up for practice."

"She didn't?" Tonks echoed. "Perhaps it has to do with the tip Flitwick gave Williams earlier. I'll look into it."

"What tip?" Harry and Hermione asked in chorus.

"Prof… I mean, Filius—it's so weird to be calling professors by their first names, by the way; I still remember them teaching me—spotted a Gryffindor student, accompanied by Vincent Crabbe, heading for the dungeons. His description matched our damsel. Williams is looking into it. We can't do anything other than patrol, but at least we'll know what's going on."

"Why would Fay be meeting Crabbe?" Harry questioned.

"I have a hunch, but let's wait for her to tell her side of the story," Tonks said. "For now, I have another question: have you seen Dumbledore lately? I mean, you mentioned you had lessons with him."

"No. It's really unsettling. Is he even at Hogwarts?"

Tonks shook her head 'no', but they couldn't chatter for much longer; Arnold Williams was approaching, Fay at his heels.

"Hello, Mr Potter," the Auror greeted. "Miss…?"

"Hermione Granger, nice to meet you," Hermione introduced herself automatically.

"Don't be so formal, Williams." Tonks winked. "It sounds like we're at grandma's fancy tea party of something. You already know Harry, and Harry knows you, and this smart thing here is Harry's bestie and a geek just like you, so you two will get along just fine. And before you ask, Hermione is absolutely trustworthy. Oh, and by the way, wotcher, Fay—cheer up, you look a little sad there."

"Hi, Tonks," Fay greeted, her voice not exactly cheerful. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it, Har—"

She never got to finish, however, because Tonks urged them to stay focused.

"I really hate to interrupt you like this, but our secret meeting takes priority right now. So if you kids are wondering what Williams is doing here, he is going to help me tutor you today because I will need an assistant, and again—Williams here is pretty trustworthy. All right?"

"Seeing how you've made me sign a cursed document, I sort of need to be trustworthy," the other Auror remarked. "But don't worry, a hint of danger just adds to your charm."

"I know, I'm irresistible—just look at me," Tonks joked.

There was a great amount of truth in those words, though. Tonks was hot. Pretty much the whole Hogwarts student body agreed on that, and the likes of Seamus even entertained futile dreams on asking the pretty Auror out on a Hogsmeade weekend.

"Yes, and your modesty is also quite exceptional," Williams shot back. "You know, Tonks, sometimes I'm glad I got over my crush on you; it would have been like dating an exuberant child. But anyway, I think it is only prudent to stop this conversation here and pay attention to our kids. I hope you all understand that what Tonks and I are doing for you has to remain secret—should anyone find out that we are giving you secret little Auror trainings, we will both lose our job. Alright?"

Harry, Hermione, and Fay nodded, Hermione a little confused, but Harry and Fay fully appreciating.

Tonks wasn't ready to let go of the banter, though.

"It's interesting how you always want to avoid the topic of me being awesome, Williams. But anyway, look at the bright side: if you had dated me, at least you wouldn't have had to pot-train me, baby daddy."

"Pot-train?" Fay repeated, confused.

"My little girl, Amelia—she's started her pot-training, except it's not going that well. Every time I try to teach her how to do it, she summons her toys and starts to play. I am usually left to make peeing voices, and she just giggles and ignores me," Williams explained.

"… and it looks like I have to admit that once again, you're right. It's better to finish this odd conversation; we're making the kids uncomfortable," Tonks interrupted again.

She was right, though. At that instant, Harry, Hermione and Fay were all feeling awkward. Hermione was trying to process the new amount of information she was receiving at the same time as trying to comprehend the bickering of the two colleagues. Harry was an orphan, and Fay a single child—neither of them had the faintest idea how to take care of a toddler.

"I apologise, I got carried away. Anyway, now that we've got everything settled, shall we start the training?" Williams asked.

They started walking, heading behind Hagrid's hut, just to the edge of the Dark Forest.

"Wait," Fay cried out suddenly, stumbling and almost falling down. "I believe… I just realised something. I_ think_ I have some answers. I… I believe Vincent Crabbe is using excessive amounts of Polyjuice Potion. Yes, it all fits…"

Fay stopped speaking, her expression slightly mad. Harry was reminded of Hermione when the latter had realised how Rita Skeeter had been getting secret information for her horrid articles.

"It all fits," the girl repeated again before turning towards Harry.

"Do you remember how I added a green tea extract to our potion?" she asked him. "Green tea leaves are non-magical, so they won't interfere with the Potion itself, and yet since green tea helps to keep your blood vessels relaxed, the side effects of the Polyjuice potion are not so severe. The twitching is not so irking when you transform…"

Harry found himself nodding absently; he remembered all too clearly how his insides had writhed as though he'd swallowed live snakes and how the potion had caused him a horrible discomfort—as if he had been about to get sick, only worse. He certainly wasn't fond of that potion that was for sure.

Hermione furrowed her brows. Harry had the vague feeling she was recalling everything she knew about the potion.

Tonks and Williams also appeared to be deep in thought.

"Is this 'Vincent Crabbe' one of Mr Malfoy's friends? A bigger boy?"

"More like a bodyguard," Harry snorted, thinking back on how Malfoy had never had the courage to act like a real wizard and would prefer shouting insults while hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle.

"Right," Williams commented, "there are usually two bigger boys accompanying Mr Malfoy, am I correct?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, "There's also Goyle."

Tonks arched her eyebrows.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked her partner.

"It's the only possible explanation, unless we both have weird hallucinations."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, exchanging a look with the girls.

"Williams and I were patrolling one night," Tonks started to explaining, "and just as I was passing the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, I saw a first year Hufflepuff girl… seemingly just having a stroll."

"Do you mean that Barnabas who is trying to teach ballet to the trolls?" Hermione asked. "The one on the seventh floor?"

"The one and the same," Tonks assured her, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a significant glance, leaving Fay and Auror Williams at a loss.

Tonks, however, seemed to know that there was a secret entrance to the Room of Requirement just opposite the tapestry.

"Anyway, I know Puffs," Tonks asserted. "A Puff first year would not be having a stroll all alone just an hour before curfew. Social interactions are just as important in Hufflepuff as having good grades is in Ravenclaw. There's a great wisdom in that: the group effort pays off, and it's more fun to study and hang out with friends rather than sit proudly in a corner by yourself trying to figure out some difficult problem that makes you upset… However, even if we forget about that, there was just something very awkward about the way that little girl was walking, like she was feeling remarkably uncomfortable in her own body or something..."

"And so Tonks alerted me about the route that little girl had apparently taken, and I went to patrol the said location to see if I could get a glimpse of her. But here's the funny thing: I never saw any girl come down from the seventh floor. The only people I did meet that night within the range of all the possible routes the mystery girl could have taken, was Severus Snape escorting his student—I later found out his name was Gregory Goyle—to the common room so that the boy wouldn't get caught wandering past curfew. So either Tonks saw an imaginary Hufflepuff girl or something's really off…"

"They must be using Polyjuice," Fay mused. "It would fit the symptoms I saw today. They must be transforming into different students to avoid arousing suspicion. Maybe Professor Snape's even in on it. I wonder what they're after…"

"That would explain why our observations of Malfoy haven't been very productive," Harry reasoned, cursing himself for not having thought of using the Marauder's Map earlier. "Crabbe and Goyle must be constantly on the lookout, polyjuiced as different students to keep Malfoy out of trouble."

"Well, it needs to be looked into," Williams summarised. "Tonks?"

"Yes, but right now, it's really high time for our secret lesson to begin—we can't afford wasting another minute; it's not advisable for me and Williams to remain at Hogwarts after our patrolling shift is over, so let's hurry up."

* * *

**AN**: Alright, guys, finally some progress. The story will become more fast paced from here on, I promise. The reason why I felt necessary to explore all this Fay/Draco angle is because other characters in the whole saga had been split from the beginning - enemies from the first day, so to say - so there wasn't any moral dilemma to explore in regard of how people you had a fairly neutral relationship with before might suddenly become your enemies over different ideologies. The scary thing is that even the simplest differences might lead to a conflict - like a simple cultural difference. Here I would like to bring an example: I recently saw a group of young people getting into an argument over shoes. Apparently, in some cultures it's considered rude to take your street shoes off if you visit someone's home (it gives a wrong idea of being invasive and hints at the fact that you're staying for a night), whereas in other cultures the opposite is considered rude and it's extremely impolite to have your street shoes on in someone else's home when you're visiting. So, my point is that we don't even have to have different political and religious views for conflicts to occur - shoes will do - but in the end nobody wants to be insulted. Pure-bloods weren't fond of Hermione's rightful critique, and Hermione, as well as other Muggle-borns, felt definitely insulted by the pure-blood attitude towards them - but what is the solution? Kill each other off?

Anyway, hence the dilemma and I'll continue exploring this, but overall story will become more fast-paced as promised. And now I'd like to thank all my awesome readers as well as my dear beta **Tarpeia**.


	17. Chapter 17: The Lesson

As the lesson progressed, two facts became clear: first, there was a lot more to Auror work than any of the teens had previously imagined, and second, they all required a different training program.

Harry turned out to be the best at defense while Hermione was decent and Fay hopeless.

The defensive aspect of the Auror training combined classical dueling as well as the Muggle defense techniques. The other part of the training was majorly analytical. Aurors had to be able to solve various problems, which involved a lot of practical knowledge as well as good detective skills.

"Which House has yielded most Aurors, what do you think?" Tonks asked, looking expectantly at the teens.

"Gryffindors," Harry answered without hesitation, and Hermione nodded in agreement. "Who else would have the courage to deal with those… criminals?"

"Err… Ravenclaws," Fay offered timidly. "I mean, those dark wizards are smart, and you have to be twice as smart to fight them."

"Wrong on both accounts," Tonks answered. "Don't be surprised, but Hufflepuffs are actually the ones who end up working in roles like this."

"Really?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.

"You don't think all the Puffs are 'leftovers' or something, do you now, Harry?" Tonks asked, making a genuinely horrified face.

"No, of course not," Harry said quickly, recalling how Cedric wouldn't touch the Cup when they had reached it in the maze. "It's just that… unless you know for sure which House such or such wizard was sorted to, it's so difficult to tell."

"I see what you mean," Tonks agreed. "But we, Puffs, are very dedicated, and in the end, this is what truly matters because despite your brains and courage, you still may not last if you're not dedicated enough—it's the same with the Healer profession. Besides, Lions are prone to impulsiveness, and Ravens… err… while very smart, they have the tendency to become psychologically unbalanced in extreme situations."

"Not true at all," Williams interjected. "Ravenclaws make great Aurors—just look at me."

"Yes, the only one in the last decade," Tonks winked playfully. "In the end, it's the dedication and the hard work that count… which is why you will have additional homework."

William rolled his eyes at her but produced something that looked like two plain notebooks from the pocket of his jacket.

"Undetectable Extension Charm!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's why you were able to hide these notebooks in your pocket! I've tried it too; it's very useful."

Williams smiled at her. "You are very bright—most sixth year students haven't even heard of that charm."

Hermione smiled back, trying to appear timid.

"I'm sorry we haven't got one for you too, Hermione; I wasn't sure whom Harry would be bringing," Tonks apologized. "I promise I'll make one for you as well. I've created this booklet on the practical charms and enchantments that you might find useful. There is also a whole section on detection methods so that you'd know how not to destroy accidentally your evidence, and there are a few blank pages at the end, in case you find something to add…"

Tonks gave the notebooks to Harry and Fay. The girl looked absolutely delighted.

"Wow, that's just… thank you, Tonks," she gushed. "Just… wow! Is there anything I could get for you? For Valentine's maybe?"

"Eh… better not," Tonks responded, surprised by Fay's somewhat emotional reaction. "Would be too suspicious if a student gave a regular patrolling Auror a present for Valentine's. Besides, you'd get similar booklets in Auror training anyway, so it's no big deal."

Harry had a vague impression that Tonks was heavily downplaying the truth at that moment: those booklets must have taken her a lot of sleepless nights to make. He decided not to comment, though.

There was also something off about Fay today. Earlier, she had wanted to tell him something but couldn't have done so. He wondered what could have happened and why she had been meeting with Crabbe, of all people.

"Right, now let's proceed to the analytical part," Tonks reminded them. "There's not much time left. Harry, is there anything you want to clarify about the basic self-defense?"

"No, I got it," Harry assured her, looking at the girls. "We'll find the time to practice."

"All right then," Tonks nodded with the silent agreement of her colleague. "Let's move on. Um, Fay, what did you think of the message Harry sent you earlier?"

Fay thought about it.

"It was awkward," she admitted at last. "It didn't sound like anything Harry would say… I mean, it's professor Dumbledore who likes throwing around grand, mysterious phrases. But the handwriting was Harry's, so I looked more closely and saw that every first letter at the beginning of every sentence was written differently as if Harry had applied more pressure on them. This is how I discovered the code and understood the message. Was it a test?"

"In a way," Williams responded before Harry could have. "It clearly shows two things: for one, Fay here has good deduction skills. Yet on the other hand, Harry has made it easy for her to notice these things, which is something we will need to work on."

Harry looked quizzically at the Auror. He did not have to wait long for an explanation.

"The thing is," Hermione said honestly, "you're a little… um, repetitive in your mannerisms and…"

"You mean I'm predictable, don't you?" he sighed, suddenly recalling how Hermione had reminded him about Gabrielle Delacour just before he had stormed off to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius.

Hermione opened her mouth but was immediately stopped by Williams.

"An important aspect of the Auror analytics is to understand how the other wizards see you. It is not a bad thing to have habits and mannerisms—we all have them—but in our job, it is important to see them under different angles."

"So that they wouldn't be used against us," Tonks concluded. "But this is something we wanted to leave for the very end, didn't we, Williams?"

"Yes, our time is up," the older Auror agreed. "Now that you've mastered the basic self-defense, I suggest you practice the moves when you have time, and as to Mr Malfoy—continue keeping an eye on him if you can, but please don't act on your own; if you see something suspicious, notify either me, Tonks, or some other Auror."

Harry exchanged a glance with the girls. Hermione nodded, shifting closer to him. Fay nodded too, not really looking at any of them.

"Great," Tonks exclaimed, a tad too cheerfully. "Now that our session is over, here's what we do: Williams will silently leave as to not arouse any suspicion, and then we will follow. Should anyone ask, we all met up casually just when I was leaving my patrolling post."

Harry decided to leave all his questions for another time and pocketed Tonks's present.

As the older Auror left, they waited for a few minutes and then followed Tonks's cue, leaving the enchanted area just behind Hagrid's hut.

It was rather ingenious of the Aurors to have marked that area and cast protective charms around it so that they would be neither heard nor seen by anyone else. Hermione seemed to agree, judging by the way she was now asking Tonks carefully to write down the spells the latter had used to this effect.

"This way," Tonks whispered, waving at the three of them, "we'll make sure Hagrid won't glimpse us…"

"It's all right," Fay interrupted quickly, "I'll distract professor Hagrid… so that you three can go."

"You will?" Harry asked. "Are we going to meet back in the Gryffindor tower later on, then?"

She hesitated, and both Tonks and Hermione narrowed their eyes a bit.

"Err…no," Fay answered somewhat rigidly. "I… I need some space. I want to be alone… to think. Don't look for me please."

"Wha—"

"Sure, Fay, go ahead," Hermione spoke quickly, stepping on Harry's foot and leaving him utterly shocked.

"Oh—right—thanks a lot," Harry stammered after catching Hermione's please-just-follow-my-lead look. "Err—I'll just go over there with… I'll leave you alone if you really want to go, although I thought we'd be discuss—never mind."

He watched as Fay hurried off, not even bothering to listen to his feeble stammering.

"What was that about?!"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, "don't you see—what is it, Tonks?"

Whatever she was going to start explaining, Tonks's gaze made her stop.

"Say, Hermione, this Faith girl is not your friend, is she now?"

"What?" Hermione looked startled. "Well, no, we share a dormitory… Nobody likes her much, I think, although Parvati and Lavender have warmed up to her lately… Anyway, it's not that. She sometimes irks me, but she's not a bad person."

"Will either of you please enlighten me about what just happened? Because I seem to be missing something," Harry intervened irritably as they continued walking towards the castle.

"Let me, Hermione," Tonks demanded as Hermione opened her mouth again. "Let's look at the facts: we know this damsel had a run-in with one of my cousin's body guards and after that, she started acting awkwardly."

"Right," Harry confirmed. "So?"

"So look at it from her point of view," Tonks prompted. "Look at her background and her acquaintanceships before she met you. She had always been a pure-blood from a neutral and not very well-known family, who never had many friends here at Hogwarts. This way, she knew a lot of other pure-bloods through her parents but never had any particularly strong attachments or animosities towards anyone."

"I still don't get it," Harry admitted. "What's wrong with her? Why is she being like that? Did Crabbe say something or—"

"Now you're getting warmer," Tonks winked. "It's only my guess, but I think Crabbe and my dear baby cousin had a little chat with her and made her realize that her friendship with you and a few others would mean a conflict with them."

"Well—eh—didn't she realize it before?" Harry asked incredulously. "I mean, these Slytherins have been bullying the rest of the school ever since we first got here—"

"Actually, Harry," Hermione told him carefully, "it's only Muggle-borns they don't like. They'd be happy to take you and Ron into their ranks."

"Of course," Harry snorted sarcastically, "seeing how they try to do me in all the time, there's no doubt about the strength of our friendship."

"Oh, wow, Harry, never knew you had it in you," Tonks laughed. "But Hermione has a point: they've been taught to hate Muggle-borns; when it comes to pure-bloods or certain half-bloods, they behave differently. They are not as hostile with everyone as they are with you and Hermione."

"So what should I expect now?" Harry asked. "Being stabbed in the back?"

"No, Harry," Hermione said, surprising him. "While we've never been friends, I really don't think that will be the case."

"Meh, I should have probably let her speak earlier," Tonks mused. "Sorry about that… Anyway, I don't think you should worry about being backstabbed by this girl, either. Backstabbers don't usually act this way; they are mostly the people you least suspect. Give her time. Besides, from what I've heard, you've got loads of witches to choose from."

Tonks wiggled her eyebrows in a playful manner, making Hermione giggle as well.

"Ugh, really, Tonks?"

"Did I say something wrong?" the young Auror joked. "If I'd had half your admirers back in my day, I'd have never had all those insecurity issues I used to suffer from. But seriously, don't worry about your gal—give her a little time. I'm sure this situation with your new friend is going to clear out soon."

"You had insecurity issues, Tonks?" Hermione repeated, genuinely surprised. "I'd have never thought, you are so…"

"Brilliant?" Tonks supplied helpfully. "Thank you, Hermione, but being a Metamorphmagus tends to make people jealous almost as much as always having the best grades."

"But I work very hard to get those," Hermione tried to explain, a note of despair in her voice.

"And I was born a Metamorphmagus," Tonks told her seriously. "Look, Hermione, people are complex, and sometimes certain qualities we possess rub off on them in wrong ways—especially at Hogwarts. It's not difficult to see how conflicts may occur."

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "I see what you mean. Is this why you're so sad? Are you angry with me?"

"What? Oh, no, I just have some… love trouble. Nothing important. You're very attentive though…"

"Love trouble?" Hermione echoed again, ignoring the compliment and catching Harry's eye.

Harry on his part had a hard time keeping up with the way their conversation kept changing constantly.

"Is there something we can do or…?" Hermione offered awkwardly.

"As if you two didn't have your hands full," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, I have to be an adult and suck it up. I can't mope around like that bathroom ghost only because a certain wizard chooses to ignore me…"

"Whoever he is, he's an idiot," Harry said suddenly, surprising even himself.

Tonks seemed to be genuinely flattered, though.

"This is why I've always liked Gryffindors: you are just like more aggressive versions of Puffs but just as loyal," she winked. "Don't worry about it; better practice everything we covered during the lesson and be careful—don't do anything on your own like you're used to, but tell an Auror, should you see anything suspicious. And try to prepare for our next lesson."

"Should you change your mind, you could give us the name, and then Hermione could punch him," Harry added, unable to resist. "She punched Malfoy."

"YOU DID?" Tonks gaped. "When?! Why didn't I see it?"

"It was in our third year," Hermione laughed. "We didn't know each other yet."

"Such a shame…All right, time for me to go," Tonks said finally, reaching the gate. "Don't forget what I told you: be careful. I have to go now; my shift is over."

The teens said their goodbyes to the young Auror and watched her disappear. There was something nostalgic about being with Hermione like this. It reminded him a little of their time together right after they'd rescued Sirius and were hiding from Peeves. It was as if the estrangement of the past few months hadn't happened.

Hermione seemed to be sharing some of his thoughts.

"Harry, listen," she started carefully. "I don't know how to say this… I really didn't think there was anything to worry about."

"Why didn't you believe me?" Harry asked in return.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione sighed. "I've told you before: I thought you were trying to get distracted from your grief—"

"But why didn't you make sure?" Harry demanded, trying not to sound accusatory. "You could have observed Malfoy. You'd have seen that I wasn't inventing things."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said in a low voice.

She didn't look at him when she said this, but Harry saw she was being absolutely sincere.

They remained silent for a while.

"It's all right," Harry said at last. "You believe me now, don't you?"

"I do, I'm sor—"

"Hermione, stop it," Harry interrupted. "Let's… let's find Wo-I mean, Ron. I know you two aren't on speaking terms, but we've got stuff to tell him."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'd rather leave Ronnie-Bunny with his love trouble, but you're right. Let's find him."

* * *

**AN**: Hey, first of all, I am really sorry for the delay (wanted to publish it for Valentine's to be honest).

Please bear with me, all the teen drama is almost over and after one more not very exciting chapter, things will get heated. The trio is almost back together now.

It's just that the whole dilemma, which comes with making a choice should be discussed a bit, and most importantly there's Tonks in this chapter. Tonks in all her tonks glory - because let's face it - no daughter of Andromeda Black will become a weeping mess because of some dude !

Enormous thanks to my beta **Tarpeia**.


	18. Chapter 18: Stitch and Split

Their walk back to the Gryffindor Tower was a quiet one. After a near-eternity, it really felt good to just be talking about school again. Harry couldn't believe how much he'd actually missed it.

"So what's new in Numerology?" he asked loftily.

"_Arithmancy_, Harry," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes a bit, "not _numerology_. It's an interesting subject actually. You should have taken it instead of Divination."

"Probably should have," Harry agreed, not giving it any real consideration, "but nobody explained to me what those subjects were really about, so I took everything Ron did."

Hermione seemed to understand he was chattering just for the sake of chattering, but she answered in her special, detailed manner anyway.

"Well, in Arithmancy, we study the way in which the magic of numbers is used in a variety of other fields. Some historical curiosities overlap with certain Muggles beliefs: take, for example, the superstition against the number 13—do you know how most European Muggles have come to think there's something odd with this number? Well, in other parts of the world, the number 4 is feared this way. But here's the curious thing: one plus three equals four, which means the two are not a coincidence. We have studied about an ancient Sumerian wizard, who found a way to use the magic of numbers to create curses. Wizards and Muggles communicated freely in those days, and when Sumerians developed a numeral system based on the number 12—you know, like we have twelve months in a year—the system based on the number 13 was discarded. So, understandably, this wizard was very disappointed and turned to the Dark Arts. Nowadays, the wizards who know this curse can turn the number 13 really unlucky."

"So it's not always unlucky?"

"No, only when a curse is placed on it; otherwise it's an absolutely ordinary number. Not that this makes the superstition go away."

"And what about number four?" Harry asked as they continued walking.

The sound of their steps carried far into the empty corridors as they approached the Common room. The sun was setting, emitting a few last pale winter beams into the narrow windows of the Gryffindor Tower. Little by little, the Fat Lady's portrait swam into view. She appeared to be drowsing.

"Oh, that's even more interesting," Hermione recounted enthusiastically. "Apparently the word 'four' sounds very similar to the word 'death' in Chinese. A certain Chinese Dark wizard felt inspired by this similarity and designed an even stronger curse—one so powerful that much of East and Southeast Asia still avoids this number as much as possible in their daily life because inexplicable things have happened to those who got involved with it."

"You're right," Harry agreed, "Arithmancy really sounds interesting. Pity I can't drop Divination any more."

"As if you would take extra work," Hermione retorted, knowing him far too well. "Maybe for Defence Against the Dark Arts you would have, but I'm afraid Arithmancy involves too many much calculations."

"Oh, come on, what do you know? Maybe I would actually do it. Divination is kind of tiring anyway; Trelawney will never stop predicting my death."

"That old fraud," Hermione hissed. "At least she's not goading you, although I suppose it's not much of a consolation."

"Does professor Vector—"

"No, not the professor. Greengrass from Slytherin does. She's so insufferable, if only you knew—"

"Shall either of you give me the password or will I have to listen to your chatter until nightfall?" the Fat Lady demanded, bringing Harry and Hermione back to present.

It was uncanny how adept Hogwarts portraits were at feigning sleeping.

"Right," Hermione said apologetically, "sorry. _Nidus leonis_."

The Fat Lady humph-d and let them pass, muttering something that sounded like, '_Back in my day…'_

"Wonder why she's so cranky," Harry muttered.

"The Fat Lady's always been like this, and now I believe it entirely possible that Dumbledore would have asked all the portraits to keep an eye on everyone."

"Probably," Harry shrugged, taking out the Prince's Potions book and settling down at the table he, Ron, and Hermione used to share.

"Harry," Hermione sighed, exasperated, "you still read this even though I asked you not to…"

"What is it that really bothers you, Hermione?" Harry asked. "The fact that Prince's knowledge in Potions surpasses ours?"

"It's not fair to use this to your advantage, Harry," Hermione told him seriously. "It's cheating. And besides, how will you learn this way?"

Harry placed the book in front of them both so that she could see it well.

"Come here," he said.

Hermione seemed surprised but shifted closer to him, slightly curious.

Harry opened the right page, which showed their very first potion of the year—the Draught of Living Death.

"Do you know why the Prince suggested stirring clockwise once after stirring anti-clockwise seven times in this potion?" he asked. "Or why he suggested squeezing the Sopophorous bean instead of cutting it?

"Well, she must have experimented," Hermione said reasonably, still looking disapproving.

"Yes," Harry said, "whoever this person was, they operated on the basis of magical theory. It's not very different from the science class I took in elementary school. In order to know how something works, it's important to know the principle, right? For example, why does it take a really high temperature for water to boil? Well, it's the same: if you stir once clockwise, you channel strong magical energy with the very movement of your wand and the potion suddenly becomes clear. Sophophorus bean is very similar to garlic, and if you want to obtain some juice from garlic, you don't cut it, do you—you squeeze it into a pulp until the juice comes out."

"Right," Hermione sighed. "I admit I've never thought about it this way. There are strict laws after all. I mean, for instance, Golpalott's Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components. And keeping that in mind, we should follow strict rules when brewing a Potion, just like Professor Snape taught us."

"So?" Harry questioned. "Aren't laws based on observations?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Aren't observations based on the simplest principles?"

"Yes, but—"

"The simplest principles are _simple, _Hermione: you go back to the simplest theory, use the simplest analogies you can find, and optimize the brewing process."

"Well… it's obvious you've thoroughly studied the book and even bothered to understand why the Prince had recommended alternative brewing techniques…"

Hermione sighed and looked down, a little disappointed. Harry thought he understood why. It still irked her that someone was outdoing her in Potions, but she didn't want to start a fight now that they'd made up.

"Hermione, look, we can discuss things before class or something," he offered.

"Sure," Hermione agreed. "It's just unusual to see you take your studies so seriously… Don't get me wrong, you've always been decent, and I've always urged you to do more. I guess it's not fair for me to feel this way…"

"Hermione, you're the smartest person I know, seriously," Harry consoled her. "I couldn't even count how many times you've saved me. And besides, it's not like I just figured this out all by myself. We were just chatting with Fay another day, and she told me how she got her Potions homework done."

Hermione appeared mildly surprised.

"Oh… Well, she seems decent in Potions, that's true."

"It's just her favourite subject, like Defence Against the Dark Arts is mine."

"Does she also think this Prince person is a genius?" Hermione asked a bit sharply. "Because if you ask me, there's something very off—"

"You know, it's actually exactly the opposite: if you two ever agree on something, it will be your mutual alliance against the Prince," Harry told her quickly before they could start arguing over nothing.

This made Hermione smile.

"You know, Harr—"

At this precise moment, the portrait hole opened to reveal the person they had come to look for in the first place.

"Ron," Harry called, "there you are. Come over here."

Ron came in, panting heavily. The red fabric of his robe had turned maroon where it fit him closely.

"Hey, Harry," he said in between breaths. "You disappeared, and Demelza and the others asked me to—Hermione? What are you doing here? What are you two doing here?"

His eyes darted from Harry to Hermione and back forth with an expression of a suspicious surprise. Then, gradually, his face turned as maroon as his worn-out robes. He looked down at the Prince's Potions book that Harry was still holding out to Hermione and seemed to scan the way his two friends were sitting close to each other. A horrible conclusion seemed to form in his mind—Harry could almost hear the thoughts whirl in his head.

"Ron—," Harry began carefully.

But it was already too late.

"So, how long has it been going on between you two?"

"What d'you mean, Ron?" Harry asked. "Ron, listen, you've got everything wrong; we've just been waiting for you. We've got news to tell—"

"I always get everything wrong, don't I?" Ron demanded suddenly. "Of course. It's only you two who always get everything right, isn't it? Well, I'm sorry to have bothered."

"No, Ron, listen—we've got news to tell—"

"It's okay, I can see the _news_ myself. I'm not blind," Ron snapped coldly. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, I get it, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie to _me_."

Harry looked desperately at Hermione. He didn't know how to amend the situation any more than she did. The only occasion on which he'd seen Ron act like this was when Ron had thought Harry had put his own name into the Goblet of Fire.

"Ron, listen, I've only made up with Harry today. We haven't been seeing each other behind your back. Ron, please, what about Lavender?" Hermione pleaded, her eyes starting to glisten dangerously.

Sadly, Ron wouldn't listen to reason.

"Right," the boy sneered, the scepticism in his tone rivalling Malfoy's. "Only I'm not stupid, you know. You've made it plain I'm not good enough for you. But it's alright—I've got Lavender, haven't I?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry demanded, starting to get angry. "We've always been doing everything together—"

"YOU KNOW BLOODY WELL WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," Ron bellowed suddenly. "And don't act like you don't understand anything. You and Hermione always hide stuff from me, don't you? Last year, you two went off to see Hagrid's little brother when I was at a match. This year, you secretly hide from me to 'hold hands'. Slughorn goes on only about you two as if I didn't even exist. I'm everybody's laughing stock. I bet you two have a real blast, seeing how I'm stuck with that stupid blonde dimbo, don't you?"

After his tirade, Ron went silent, just seething at them, his face beet red, his eyes full of an emotion Harry couldn't quite understand.

The silence stretched on, none of the teens backing off. It was only Hermione's soft gasp that distracted the boys from their none too pleasant staring match.

Right behind Ron, there stood Lavender Brown, her big blue eyes barely containing tears.

As they watched in horror, Lavender swallowed, distressed, tears threatening to overflow. Gryffindor Common Room, often filled with a buzz of loud noise, suddenly seemed eerily silent, amplifying each of her gasps and intakes of breath tenfold.

Ron had frozen where he stood, and the dumbfounded expression of a guilty child on his face would have appeared comical with his gaping mouth and his wide eyes if the situation weren't so grave.

Harry had remained still from the surprise; beside him, he felt Hermione shift as though she were about to stand up in Lavender's direction.

But at this precise moment, Lavender turned on the spot and ran out. A sob floated towards their ears before her long blond hair vanished in the entrance.

"Lavender! Lavender, wait!"

Hermione desperately pushed through the boys and followed their classmate, also disappearing in the portrait hole.

Ron groaned and collapsed onto an armchair, covering his face with his hands.

Harry was still in a kind of a stupor, not knowing what to do. He had suspected things weren't going well between Ron and Lavender. Ron had been training himself a little too diligently lately, never complaining about Harry's ever more demanding captaincy rules. In fact, it almost seemed as if Ron were _happy_ to have an excuse to get away from Lavender and practice some more with his Beaters and Demelza instead.

"I take it you two are no longer together?" Harry commented tentatively to break the silence.

To his shock, Ron was nowhere near letting go of his bad mood even after Lavender's appearance.

When he finally lifted his face from his lap, he only glared at Harry hatefully, and before Harry could even begin asking what his problem was, Ron pushed past him forcefully, making sure to nudge him in a manner which was way too similar to Dudley's.

It was this gesture that made Harry flip.

As Ron as good as flew out of the Common Room, Harry ran after him, panting.

He caught up with him at the very bottom of the stairs. Without even pausing to think, he grabbed the redhead by the collar—a move Ron clearly wasn't expecting. Surprised and outraged, Ron attempted to push him away, reaching for his wand. He had no time to cast a single spell, though: Auror Williams's lesson was fresh in Harry's mind, and the practice he had excelled in rose to the surface of his mind. Naturally, as though he had an extensive experience in the Muggle hand-to-hand fight, he sent Ron tumbling to the ground with one swing of his foot. He saw the other boy blink in confusion while blindly searching the ground for his wand and was almost on him when Ron punched him in the face with such a force that for a second, stars had erupted before his eyes, and he felt himself stepping back. Dimly, he heard the click of wood on the ground and knew Ron had taken hold of his wand, that he was about to attack. He did not hesitate: swooping onto Ron, he twisted his wrist, just like the Auror had shown him to do. Judging by Ron's shriek and his dumbfounded expression, he more than succeeded. The wand fell away for the second time, and at once, Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulder and brought him down, pulling Ron's arms behind his back to prevent him from attacking again. Not that it was necessary any more: Ron was panting like an exhausted animal, his eyes wide and bewildered.

"Bloody hell!" the red haired Gryffindor gasped. "Geroff!"

"D-d-did you calm down?" Harry demanded, still holding him immobile. "Calm down, Ron."

"GEROFF!" Ron yelled again, starting to thrash to throw Harry off balance.

This time, Harry released his hold, but not before taking Ron's wand.

"You and I are going to talk, Ron. What's your problem?!"

"Give me my wand back."

"No, we talk first."

Ron glared at him. Defiantly, Harry glared back. Both were still panting. Something thick made its way down Harry's chin, and it wasn't long until a familiar coppery tinge invaded his mouth. Ron's punch had caused his nose to bleed, and he was now swallowing some of it.

"Good punch," the raven-haired boy pointed out sarcastically, wiping at his chin.

"Tell that to my broken wrist—blimey, what the hell?"

"Told you I had news; it's not my fault you didn't believe me."

"You don't know what it's like to be everyone's laughing stock all the time, all right?" Ron finally blurted out. "Nobody takes me seriously. You don't have the slightest idea what it's like!"

"Yeah, I really have no idea," Harry spat sarcastically. "Because you know, every time I try to tell someone something important, NOBODY takes me seriously."

"Oh, please, it's not the same!"

"Isn't it, Ron?"

Ron didn't answer immediately; instead, he just continued to glare.

"You will NEVER understand, all right? It's not the same for you! At the end of the day, you're always the bloody hero, ain't you? But no, it wasn't enough; you also had to take Hermione!"

Harry stared at his best friend. There was something in his normally lively blue eyes that Harry couldn't quite place, but which didn't sit quite well with the Ron he had always known. So he decided to answer as honestly as he could.

"If there was _anything_ between us, you would be the first one to know, Ron, you know that—you _have_ to know that!"

Ron swallowed thickly, somewhat relieved, rubbing at his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It's just, what chance do _I _have next to you? You wouldn't understand."

"You keep saying that—"

Ron continued massaging his hurt shoulder, and Harry just gave up on finishing that phrase.

"So, Hermione, eh? How long have you been fancying her?"

Perhaps it was the change of topic, but as soon as Harry asked that question, Ron started looking like his old self again.

"Barking, isn't she?" he asked sheepishly. "That girl…"

It was then that the girl in question announced her arrival with rapid footsteps and a great deal of panting.

Harry had been expecting her; what he hadn't been expecting, though, was seeing her as dishevelled as he and Ron were.

"Oh, honestly," she sighed, dismayed. "Do you two even realize you risk a month of detention right now?! You have no idea how lucky you are that it's me who found you."

"What happened to your face, Hermione?" Harry asked, spotting something that was starting to look like a swelling on Hermione's cheek. If he had to make a guess, someone had hit her with an open palm, not a fist.

"Never mind," Hermione said hastily. "We had a… um… a disagreement with Parvati."

"No kidding," Ron piped out, also staring at Hermione. "Always thought this chick was too full of herself if you ask me."

"Do you want to know why she hit me, Ronald?" Hermione asked, a note of hysteria clear in her voice. "Because I tried to defend you!"

"Defend me? Are you serious?" Ron croaked out, clearly moved.

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione answered angrily, "I defended you despite everything you've done, and now I DEMAND an explanation! You spend nearly two months snogging Lavender deliberately in front of me, although you are well aware that it makes me feel uncomfortable, and then suddenly you cause a jealousy scene and dump Lavender only because you've seen me study with Harry?"

"It didn't look like you were studying!" Ron accused.

"DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT," Hermione yelled, thoroughly shocking Ron.

She looked slightly mad. Everything she had been itching to say to Ron was obviously about to come out in the loudest and most harmful way possible.

Harry had to intervene. "He will explain, Hermione, I promise—just not now."

Miraculously, Hermione listened to him. Moreover, she finally noticed the consequences of their fight.

"Oh, Harry, you're bleeding," she whispered in a radically different voice, compared to the one she'd been using with Ron. "Here, I have some Dittany."

Quickly, Hermione produced a chopped leaf of a very familiar plant from the pocket of her robes.

"Raw leaves help against shallow wounds just perfectly," she explained out of habit. "It's only in the case of more severe wounds that you would need an extract or even a combination of Dittany and another restorative plant."

"What about my wrist and my shoulder?" Ron grumbled. "I'm the real victim here, you know."

"Keep talking, and I'll show you what it's really like to be a victim!" Hermione snapped, though she examined Ron's wrist all the same.

"Hermione, I think we're fine," Harry intervened. "Aren't we, Ron?"

"I sure don't want you to beat me up again," Ron confirmed. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

Harry flashed Ron a smile, no doubt looking thoroughly ridiculous with a plant sticking out of his nostril, but it was true that they were somehow really fine. A few punches were exactly what they had needed to let out some steam.

"Boys," Hermione sighed under her breath.

"Come on, give me my wand back," Ron said, turning towards Harry.

"No problem." Harry shrugged. "So what now?"

To his mild surprise, it was Hermione who answered. "Now we are going to find Fay and have a little chat."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "She said—"

"Why would we want to talk to the crazy Fairy?" Ron interrupted.

Hermione silenced him with a single glance before Harry could even start reproach Ron on his unfortunate name-calling habit.

"You'll see. We'll do what we should have done from the very beginning. I'm determined to make up for not having believed you, Harry," Hermione announced. "Now let's go, you two—don't waste time, it's almost dinner."

* * *

**AN**: Okay, so throughout the 6th year there was a giant Hippogriff in the room when it came to the trio: Ron and Hermione were too focused on themselves and nobody took Draco-suspicion seriously. This is going to change now. As promised this here was the very last of the teen drama and from now on more AU detective stuff will start happening, even if the teens and teens and some mood swings are in order.

Now, another thing I wanted to address: I know FF community is big on ships, so please let me know in the reviews who you would like to see Harry with. Are you still rooting for Harry/Fay? Because it's still open to discussion. For all I know I might have Harry/Hermione shippers here.

And lastly - even though I really shouldn't get any ideas seeing how I really don't have much time for writing - what would you think of a Tonks-centric fic? Would you be interested in reading one? I just feel that Tonks is such an amazing, but underrated character that her work as an Auror deserves a separate fic, because honestly people, if she was nothing but a joker and a klutz, she wouldn't have passed her Auror exams in the first place.

This time I would also like to thank **Nice Egan **for leaving a truly heartwarming comment and **Tarpeia** for still having found time for helping me out despite the hectic schedule.


	19. Chapter 19: Vanishing Cabinet

January came to its close, lending its frosty cloak to the shortest of months. Similar to the period preceding Christmas, the days were tense with mounting excitement. Valentine's Day approached, and like any other year, the students were busy speculating and weighing their chances in regard of their love interests.

Nowhere was this tension more palpable than among the sixth year students, yet nowhere was it about to be celebrated less, whichever house one looked at. Deep in the dungeons, Pansy Parkinson was scowling at the green windows of her Common Room and quietly complaining to an indolent Daphne Greengrass, who, likewise, was to spend the anticipated day alone. Draco, it transpired, showed no inclination to invite his girlfriend to a date or celebrate the day of love in any way at all, much to Pansy's frustration. While the girl poured out her hurt and complained about Draco's indifference, the blond boy in question would stare into the anguished eyes of his own reflection in the abandoned girls' bathroom, all but oblivious to the silvery form of the ghostly girl hovering behind him. Celebrations were the least of his concerns. What did they matter when his whole life was at stake?

Gryffindor Tower hosted even more sadness, even though a number of students now chose to avoid it. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, usually the centre of their fellow Gryffindors' attention, appeared to have had a serious row in what seemed like years, and as a result, they both had decided to stay clear of the places where they'd usually hang out.

Instead, Parvati spent most of her free time with her sister, Padma, and Padma's fellow Ravenclaws while Lavender would spend hers in an unusual solitude, her eyes puffy from crying. This was certainly not what the fair, curly-haired Gryffindor had imagined this day to be like.

Fay and Hermione, on the other hand, hadn't had any date to look forward to in the first place, so they had decided to retire into the library, where they wouldn't be disturbed. Ginny alone seemed to be genuinely enjoying those days, and she could frequently be spotted hand-in-hand with Dean, showering him with affection regardless of their surroundings.

Frankly speaking, it was quite maddening. Harry kept thinking about everything that had transpired between them. Sure, his attraction was one-sided, and Ginny was perfectly happy with Dean… except he couldn't quite forget the moment they'd shared during Christmas holidays. Had it meant that Ginny was attracted to him as well? But then, why would she be constantly rubbing his nose in her relationship with Dean? For that was exactly what she was doing: constantly flirting with and hugging her boyfriend precisely when he, Harry, was around… Or maybe he was just paranoid and Ginny wasn't doing anything special? Harry just didn't know any more.

Abandoning these thoughts, he approached Fay and Hermione, wondering if they'd had any progress with their research.

When they had found Fay on that weekend evening, she'd been lingering in the kitchens with Luna. She hadn't been able to bring herself to tell them in detail what her encounter with the Slytherin boys had been about, but had made it obvious they'd told her something that had really got to her.

Hermione had been the one to save the situation; she knew exactly what to say. She, Harry, and Ron had been forced to face animosity from Slytherins from their very first year at Hogwarts, while to Fay, it had come as something akin to a blow. Apparently, there was a vast difference between just being dismissed as a 'weirdo' and being intentionally targeted and picked on. Not that any kind of bullying could be justified, as Luna had quickly reminded them.

From that day on, however, both Hermione and Fay made an effort to be civil to each other.

"I already told you it's hopeless," Fay said. "I only remember that it was a family heirloom—chronicles of sorts. Used to belong to Nicolas Malefoy."

"Right," Hermione mused. "And when did this ancestor of his live exactly?"

"Sometime in the fourteenth century—not sure about the exact time period."

"Right, let's try the exclusion method then. Did you see anything non-wizarding in that tome?"

Fay thought about it. "Not really…"

"Can I assume it was about wizards then?" Hermione clarified. "Wizarding history perhaps?"

"Now that you mention it, there was something about _moldus… _Hmm, and something about… um, _cleavage_?"

At this, Harry couldn't help but snicker a little. It was a good thing Ron wasn't there, or else he'd surely make some kind of jab about Malfoy reading up on _cleavages_.

"Oh, hi, Harry, is the training over?" Hermione asked him.

Harry cast the _Muffliato _spell, giving the girls a significant look. The library was almost vacant. People seemed to be still adapting to the new week's routine as Monday slowly drifted towards Tuesday.

"The practice is over," Harry informed the girls. "It's a pity you skipped it again, Fay. Jimmy, Ritchie, and Demelza stayed behind with Ron; I feel they're compensating for your absence."

Fay looked apologetic. "Sorry, Harry, I got carried away. I promise to keep a better track of time in the future."

Harry waved the apology away.

"So what's with Malfoy's cleavage?" he asked.

"Cleavage, clearance—it's all the same for me, you know; my French is only good enough for a restaurant visit, and this was _Old_ French at that… Wait, _Malfoy's_ _cleavage_?!"

Fay looked at Harry, her expression suddenly that of a person trying to hold back mad laughter.

"Ew, I didn't need _that_ image in my head," Harry quickly amended, having understood what he'd just blurted out.

This did it. In a second, both he and Fay were overcome with laughter. It was not even that the lame joke was this funny; the very laughter was contagious.

"Honestly, are you two twelve years old?" Hermione snapped at them, but Harry clearly saw that she, too, was trying hard to not join in their laughter.

The girl had to hush them up all the same, though, fearing, out of habit, that Madam Pince, the short-tempered librarian, who was overly protective of the library books, would be on their necks any second despite the _Muffliato _spell. If there were anything their years at Hogwarts had taught them, it was the fact that someone could always be listening in.

"Hold on," Hermione interrupted suddenly. "Did you say the tome said something about Muggles? _Les moldus_?"

"Yeees," Fay agreed tentatively.

"_Clergé moldu_?" Hermione ventured a guess.

"Possibly." Fay answered. "Maybe. I don't know. The words sound familiar. What does it mean?"

"Muggle clergy," Hermione replied pensively, "_Clergy_ is a kind of community of Muggle spiritual leaders, usually priests. I only wonder how it's connected to Malfoy's family journals… If there was a time when wizards feared and hated Muggles more than at any other time in history, it was then. Remember Wendelin the Weird? Those were her days."

"Where did you learn to speak French, Hermione?" Harry asked, curious, interrupting her trail of thought.

"Oh, mum and dad usually take me to France for holidays," Hermione answered. "We went to Dijon the summer before last, and then, this summer, we went to Barfleur—that's in Normandy—and well, I just learned a few things. I mean, I was bored without schoolwork and thought I might as well do something useful."

Only Hermione could be _bored_ without schoolwork.

"What about you, Fay?" Harry asked, failing to foresee that she'd probably ask him the same question in return.

"We have a property in Florence," Fay said. "And you are totally distracting Hermione and me."

Harry looked at her quizzically, wondering briefly if his panic had shown on his face and if she had somehow deduced that he didn't like talking about his home life. He wasn't given a lot of time to ponder on it as Hermione continued reasoning out loud.

"A lot of things happened back then, for Merlin's sake. The 'Magical Species Protection Act' was developed. Cyprian Youdle, a Quidditch referee, was murdered during a match. But we are obviously dealing with something _local_. Isn't there really anything you recall?"

"_Sans_ means _without_, doesn't it?" Fay questioned.

Hermione nodded.

"And _baguette_?" Fay asked again, her voice uncertain.

"_Wand_, that's what it means," Hermione answered immediately. "So, we have 'clergy' and 'wandless'. What connection can we make?"

"Simple," Harry answered. "Seeing how Muggles were afraid of everything magical, the Inquisition trials were frequent, and snobs like the Malfoys used it no doubt as an excuse to describe how _dangerous _Muggles were even without wands… You know, to heat things up."

"Heat things up," Hermione said pensively. "Right, of course… Hmm… I have to make sure… The two of you can go."

With that, Hermione stood up and went to the other section of the library, out of _Muffliato_'s effect range.

Harry and Fay were left to stare at each other.

"Is she—"

"Yes," Harry answered, fully understanding the question. "She's always like that. With any luck, she's figured something out."

Fay gawked at him, her expression confused to the point of looking comical. "No wonder she'd got the best grades. With brains like hers…"

"Or maybe Hermione just, you know, studies until she drops," Harry offered.

Fay, however, gave him a scrutinizing look.

"Did Hermione complain about my habit of staying up until morning?" she asked suspiciously.

"She might have mentioned it," Harry admitted. "But it wasn't a complaint. She… eh, sort of wondered how come you sometimes fail to get your homework done, seeing how you seem to be reading something all the time…"

"Oh," Fay uttered, her cheeks heating up in what looked like embarrassment, "well, it's true, I procrastinate… It's just, there are so many interesting things that _aren't_ taught at school. Think about it: I'm lucky to know a lot about plants and potions because my mum owns a business, but there are millions—billions—of things we don't cover, and I sort of… get carried away sometimes. I mean, do I really know any advanced healing spells? Am I good at recognizing different kinds of magic based on the wand movements? Can I drive those Muggle wheeled boxes? And then, all the foreign languages I want to learn—I only speak English and some Italian—"

"You want to learn to drive a car?" Harry interrupted, astonished.

"Oh, is that what they're called?" Fay asked in return. "I'll try to remember… Anyway, it's not like I can really help it. It's like I promise myself I'll read up on the stuff I like just for a little bit, and then—BAM—it's morning, and Binns's stupid essay is due or something..."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Fay's interests were peculiar. Had she expressed her desire to the likes of Malfoy, however, it would have made her even more unpopular than the Weasleys.

As soon as his thoughts went back to Malfoy, he couldn't help but turn sombre, his good mood, which had just emerged seconds ago as he'd conversed with Fay, rapidly fading.

"So, what did Malfoy and Crabbe tell you the other day?"

Fay tensed a little, focusing on the quill in her hand with an unnecessary intensity. Her gaze grew a little distant.

Unsure what to think of this, Harry took the approach Fay herself would have normally chosen.

"It has been determined that there are two major non-verbal indicators of nervousness. Basically, if you're not really comfortable with something, then you either try to move around a lot or you're stoic and still."

That seemed to surprise Fay.

"Where did you—I mean _when_… It's not like it's something we're taught or anything…"

"Remember when we had our row and I wanted to quit this whole thing?" Harry asked, not really expecting an answer. "Well, I asked Colin Creevey to get me some books. Basic stuff: how to recognize the common substances and certain behavioural patterns. I thought it'd be useful. It's something you do… sort of… Anyway, was it really _that_ bad, the things Malfoy and Crabbe had to say?"

Fay seemed to relax a little. "Your observations are correct. I just didn't know how to really explain it, so it sort of made me nervous or something… It's just… I'm not _pathetic_, am I, Harry?"

This managed to get Harry's attention.

"Are you serious?" he asked incredulously. "You actually took _that_ personally?"

"He sort of hit a nerve, Harry—people tend to avoid me. They think I'm weird, and in our second grade, Parvati actually told me I was too obsessed to have friends…"

"You know, if I took Malfoy's opinion on myself seriously, I'd probably be a permanent resident in St. Mungo's mental ward."

A ghost of something akin to a smile appeared on Fay's face.

"Well, it's just like what I told Hermione when the three of you came to find me—it's just hard to imagine that someone would genuinely hate you. It came as a bit of a shock. You were right to say that some Slytherins would be able to commit a murder in a few years. It's just, I somehow, dunno, never _really_ saw it until now. And it makes me feel ashamed because Hermione gets such remarks all the time because she's a Muggle-born."

"You know, being an Auror will probably make you a few enemies," Harry pointed out matter-of-factly.

This time, Fay genuinely smiled, shrugging. "I guess we've found one downside to all this Auror thing after all…"

"So, do you still want to do it?" Harry asked jokingly, although his question was actually a valid one.

"I suppose I can always join Parvati and Lavender in their beauty career pursuit, although it wouldn't be quite _it_—and besides, I got used to hanging out with you. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Harry asked, astonished.

"For making an effort—I mean, you even got me to interact with Hermione. It would have been an impossible feat to accomplish just a little while ago, trust me."

"You're welcome." Harry shrugged. "Hermione's not _that_ bad, you know."

"No, she's not," Fay answered. "Only there's one little hitch: we usually tend to finish every conversation we have with an argument…"

"Isn't that how every friendship starts?" Harry questioned. "I mean, Ron and I had to go through a mountain troll to get Hermione on our side."

"You make it sound like it's possible to befriend even those you don't get on well with… Not that it isn't reassuring—because it is—but I really hope it doesn't mean we will have to befriend professor Snape or anything," Fay muttered, sounding somewhat horrified.

Harry made a face at her. "No, definitely not—not even under a threat. It just wouldn't work. In fact, had he still been teaching Potions, I'd have probably ended up pushing him right into a cauldron."

It irritated Harry to even think about Snape. The greasy bastard was happy Sirius was dead, and this was something Harry just couldn't forgive. Besides, Harry had been careful to avoid the sallow-skinned man lately, for he was certain that his former Potions professor was still looking for evidence to prove they'd been down in the dungeons.

Fay's next remark made him almost roar with laughter, though.

"Pushing him into a cauldron would probably be a bad idea, Harry," she said seriously. "I mean, he might actually enjoy getting a bath for once… Better tell me, how is everything between you and Ron now?

"Oh, no, no—we just needed to get some steam off," Harry assured her between his bursts of laughter.

It was the truth; their physical fight had led them to face some of the problems they'd been having at the beginning of the year. Ron needed more recognition, and being essentially the most active member on the team, he was finally getting some of it on the Quidditch field. This was the most likely reason as to why Ron still hadn't come to find them in the library—he was in fact training the team, always staying behind to make sure everybody had made some progress.

"And, ah, what about Ginny?" Fay asked, sobering Harry a bit. "I was afraid I'd given you bad advice…"

Harry truly didn't know what to say. Again, the moment he'd shared with Ginny came back to him, but Ginny was with Dean, so in the end, this was what he said as a response to a now guilty-looking Fay.

"You know, don't listen to me next time. I must be frankly the worst person to turn to for relationship advice."

Harry made a casual gesture with his shoulders to indicate it was all alright. Someone's footsteps were rapidly approaching, so he quickly cast _Finite Incantatem_ to finish the _Muffliato_ spell.

It was Ron.

"There you are," he panted, pausing to quickly greet Fay. "Where's Hermione?"

"Err—"

"Probably in the history aisle," Fay answered, "looking up some stuff."

"Right," Ron said automatically. "Um, Harry, you've got a message. It's from Dumbledore."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry made it just in time: an hour and a half before dinner. Dumbledore was already sitting at his grand table, waiting for him. His burnt hand looked eerily out of place.

The office itself was the same as always: calm and cosy. Delicate silver instruments stood steadily on spindle-legged tables, emitting puffs of silver vapour. The portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses were, as usual, pretending to be fast asleep, leaning their heads on the edges of the frames; and the tall windows, which would normally show the horizon, were pitch black, showing nothing but the looming darkness.

"Sir!" Harry exclaimed. 'I'm so happy to see you."

"As am I, Harry," Dumbledore admitted, smiling cordially. "It's been a while. I'm certainly happy to hear you haven't got in trouble lately."

"I'm trying, Sir," Harry said honestly. "Err… Sir, the Minister for Magic came to see me over Christmas."

"Did he?" Dumbledore asked, bringing out the silver Pensieve with a flick of his wand. "What is it that he required from you, Harry?"

"He wanted me to be the Ministry's poster boy—tell the wizarding community that the Ministry was doing a really wonderful job. He… he was honest about it," Harry answered, uncertainty seeping into his voice towards the end of his sentence.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly.

"Originally, it was Fudge's idea; but I couldn't let it happen," he commented. "Not after what Dolores Umbridge had done to this school. It was high time for Fudge to understand where to draw the line—had he had any shame, he would have had the decency to apologize to you instead of trying to use you as a last resort to save his career after everything he'd put you through."

"Is that what you've been protecting me from, Sir?" Harry asked seriously. "Because I've been thinking. Last year, you told me that you'd made me live with my aunt and uncle because of my mum's protection… But is this all there is to it? Also, in the _Daily Prophet_, there was a piece of news about you arguing with the Minister. That was the reason, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled again.

"I see Miss Dunbar's influence taught you to consider people's ulterior motives."

Harry stared. "Y-you know? I mean—"

"The Fat Friar was happy to tell me you got a new friend." Dumbledore explained. "I am certainly happy for you, too. Alas, you need more friends, Harry, and it's always good to open your heart."

Harry nodded, unsure how to comment, but Dumbledore seemed to know what to say.

"Miss Dunbar used to be a very curious and engaging child—overly curious, I might even say—but just like in Miss Lovegood's case, her peers often have difficulties understanding her interests, as I've been informed."

Harry nodded. It almost sounded like Dumbledore knew Fay too, although perhaps it wasn't that impossible, seeing how, during their third year, when they had all had Christmas breakfast, Dumbledore even appeared to know the name of a first year student.

"Teachers know their students better than you'd think, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "To answer your earlier question, then yes, this was the reason of the conflict between Rufus and me. As to your protection, you are right on this one too. Many people had a claim on you, Harry, and sadly, not all of them were decent. Some were ready to use an orphaned boy for personal gain."

"Like who, for example?" Harry asked, his curiosity spiking.

"Well, considering the marital connection to the Blacks the Potters used to have back in the day, I would say that the most respected former members of the House of Black most certainly had the legal right to adopt you."

"But Sirius was in Azkaban," Harry objected immediately.

"Ah, but some other _former_ Blacks were still respectable members of the wizarding society," Dumbledore clarified, putting a special emphasis on the word 'former'.

Harry, however, wasn't getting it.

"Who?" he asked. "Not Bellatrix Lestrange—I mean, she's certainly a _former_ Black, seeing how she passed to 'Lestrange', but—oh! You mean Narcissa Malfoy, don't you? Are you saying I could have grown up with _Malfoy_?"

The very thought was absolutely repulsive.

"I'm happy you understand my position, Harry. I had to organize your protection as soon as possible, and on a very short notice."

Harry shuddered in disgust. The Dursleys were bad, but at least, they weren't the Malfoys. It was Dumbledore's calm voice that brought him back to the present situation.

"I stand by what I told you last year, Harry," the Headmaster said sincerely. "If only it had been possible to give you to a loving wizarding family, I would have done so without hesitation."

"But it had to be the Dursleys," Harry finished for him. "I understand, Sir. Sir… speaking of Malfoy… Do-do you—I mean, don't you find it suspicious—"

"I have asked the Aurors to be extra vigilant, and before you ask—no, no evidence has been found to tie Mr Malfoy to the incident."

Harry didn't bother asking if Dumbledore knew about his suspicions. Dumbledore must have known all along.

"What if something like this happens again?" he demanded instead.

"I assure you it is quite impossible. I made sure all the security measures were doubled since Miss Bell's incident. Speaking of which, you will be happy to hear she is feeling much better."

"Don't you think Snape could have aided Malfoy?" Harry pressed, unable to stop and no longer caring if he were revealing too much of his _supposedly_ secret mission to the Headmaster.

"I have been tolerant enough to answer this question more than once," Dumbledore said in a tone that made it clear that Harry had crossed the line. "Now, our time is pressing. We have a lot to discuss this evening."

Harry nodded, trying not to glare. Phineas Nigellus sent him a distinctly mocking sneer. Harry wondered what his problem was.

Dumbledore, however, seemed to sense that Harry was upset.

"Ah, Harry, how often this happens even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that our own matters are much more important than anything the other has to say."

"I don't think that what you have to say is unimportant, Sir," Harry said honestly.

"That's good because we are going to continue our journey in Tom Riddle's footsteps," Dumbledore declared briskly. "Now, do you remember what we learned the last time?"

"Merope died, and Riddle grew up in an orphanage," Harry recalled immediately.

"That's right," Dumbledore confirmed. "You saw what he was like at the orphanage. When he came to Hogwarts, however, he was a quiet, polite boy in second-hand robes. He lined up with the other first years and was sorted to Slytherin. As to his following school years, then I must admit no wrongdoings were ever discovered on his part. The teachers adored him; his fellow students had a great respect for him. Tom Riddle proved to care not only about his own academic success, but also about the others' success. Not a shadow remained of the bitter child I had met at the orphanage…"

"That was an act," Harry said immediately. "I bet Riddle was just gaining followers."

"Either way, Tom was never caught trying to either impress or scare his fellow students. At some point, he found out about his ancestry, but whether he shared this knowledge with his friends remains unknown. He remained as polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge as ever and was even spotted defending certain less popular students from the more aggressive boys from his House," Dumbledore continued calmly. "Tonight, however, we shall view a very particular memory about Tom: one that belongs to his uncle, Morfin. I trust you remember him well from our last session."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

By the time Harry was allowed to go and have dinner, he was so immersed in his thoughts that he scarcely paid attention to what he was stuffing in his mouth.

The majority of the students had already finished their meals, and Lavender was kind enough to inform him that Ron, Hermione and Fay had already left for the Common Room.

Harry nodded absently, thanking Lavender with a non-committal grunt. His mind was still in the memories he'd just seen and in the mysteries Dumbledore had presented.

Riddle had obviously performed some kind of mind magic on his uncle so that the latter would confess to a murder he obviously hadn't committed. And to think there were such _convenient_ rules, according to which an underage wizard could perform as much magic as he wished as long as there was another magical being around—after all, the Ministry could only detect magic being performed in the places where underage wizards were supposed to live, but they had no way of finding out who had actually performed said magic. There were so many loopholes in the system that it was just unfair. Pure-bloods were certain to be been taking advantage of it all the time.

And then there was the memory where Riddle had asked Slughorn about Horcruxes. It was now up to Harry to find out what Horcruxes were and why Riddle had needed to make them.

Another interesting thing was that now that Harry had started being more attentive to people's body language, it was clear to him that Dumbledore was constantly withholding information.

When Harry had mentioned Scrimgeour's questions as to where Dumbledore periodically disappeared from Hogwarts, the Headmaster had only given him a knowing smile and said that the Minister had even tried to have him followed, except the attempt had been in vain. Dumbledore hadn't revealed this particular mystery to Scrimgeour, and certainly not to Harry either.

By the time Harry finished his dinner, he was easily the last one to remain in the Great Hall, aside from a few Ravenclaws, who apparently thought they studied best with something to chew over their parchments.

His walk towards Gryffindor Tower was all but automatic; what truly brought Harry to reality was seeing Ron and Hermione sharing a table with Fay. The very picture was so bizarre that it left Harry a bit speechless.

Fay was the first one to spot him standing in front of the portrait hole.

"Over here!" she motioned enthusiastically.

"How'd it go?" Ron asked as soon as Harry was close enough, but Fay interrupted him, brimming with enthusiasm.

"We've got—I mean, Hermione's got news," she panted.

Hermione sighed in a way that clearly showed that she didn't know whether to roll her eyes at Fay or just let it go. Harry turned to face her. Hermione understood the question in his eyes.

"I've been in the library all evening," she said, "and I _think_ I have discovered what the coppery object is. I've been researching the most prominent coppery magical items of the fourteenth century, and—"

"What is it?" Harry asked immediately.

"Well, there are several options, actually, but—"

"It _has_ to be it, Hermione," Fay interrupted, apparently unable to withhold the information. "Harry, we think it's—"

"We are not sure, though," Hermione overrode her. "But back in the times of persecution, wizarding children sometimes needed a quick getaway to safety. Since it wasn't very safe to let them Apparate or use a Portkey, a special device was constructed: the Vanishing Cabinet. The first editions were made of wood, but then—"

"But the later ones of copper, Harry," Fay finished for Hermione before glancing quickly back at the other girl. "Err… sorry, Hermione, I'm just so excited, I promise I won't interrupt any more."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Anyway, the Vanishing Cabinet is one of the possible coppery objects he could be using, but there's a wide range of coppery objects dating back to fourteenth century, which is why—as I already told Fay here—we can't just randomly _assume_ that's what it is."

Harry sighed and took a seat when Ron spoke.

"Yeah, I mean, it's Malfoy we're talking about," he said. "For all that we know, he might have a coppery statue of some ancestor hidden somewhere. Probably gives it a good-night kiss before going to sleep."

"No, Ronald, I don't think so—based on my observations, I'm certain this kind of fanatic behaviour would be out of character for him," Fay said seriously, clearly not accustomed to Ron's humour.

"At any rate," Hermione started, "we should at least make sure, but I'm afraid—"

"I have a question," Ron said suddenly, interrupting her again. "Why are we all suddenly rolling with the Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory?"

"We are not _rolling _with it, Ron," Harry answered. "It just so happens that his behaviour, as well as the clues Fay and I have found, clearly indicate he's up to something, and we need to find out what it is."

"Well, it's Malfoy," Ron started to object. "He's merely boasting, as usual; he's actually too stupid—"

"How do we make sure it's a Vanishing Cabinet?" Fay interrupted.

"Harry," Hermione's voice cut in before Harry could even start thinking about formulating his answer, "please don't do anything stupid. You've been clear of any trouble for a while, and I really want it to stay this way."

"What interests me," Harry said slowly, "is the question _how_ Katie's attack is involved with all of this. The more I think about it, the more it seems to me there is no logical pattern. Let's say Malfoy was working on the Cabinet—or something else, something to do with copper. It would seem he'd have some kind of long-term goal, right? So how is Katie related to it at all?"

"She is not," Fay said slowly. "Katie's attack stands separately. It might still be somehow connected to Draco's activities, but it definitely isn't related to the coppery dust we found. Do you remember anything usual from that day?"

"Aside from our little adventure and us running into Snape?" Harry asked tiredly. "Not really, although…"

He didn't bother finishing the sentence. There _was_ something, but he couldn't remember what. His thoughts drifted to the next day, to their talk with Williams the Auror, and to the fact that Katie's attack had never been properly investigated.

This, in turn, made him think of Dumbledore and of the new task he now had to fulfil: find out about the Horcruxes.

Ron, Fay, and Hermione were still looking at him. His eyes briefly locked with Fay's, and as if sensing some sort of hesitation in him, she spoke up.

"We can get to him, Harry; we can actually figure it out now—honestly, we've just made a huge progress."

Harry buried his face in his arms to avoid looking at anyone. He could feel Hermione and Ron exchanging glances. Dumbledore's warning about Fay, which the Headmaster had given him just before he had left the office, rang in his ears.

"_It's wonderful to make new friends, Harry, and I am happy that you are opening yourself to new possibilities, but please bear in mind that Miss Dunbar has never faced the dangers you, Miss Granger, and Mr Weasley have, and that makes her very vulnerable."_

It was the truth; Dumbledore was right. But then again, Harry had made several new decisions this year. He had ordered Kreacher to seal 12 Grimmauld Place from any intruders; he had asked Colin to get him some extra reading material on the principles of psychology in forensic investigation, and he had built a stronger connection with Tonks.

And Fay was right, too—they could finally discover what Malfoy was up to.

When he looked up, he had his answer at the ready.

"You're right Hermione," he said, "We have to make sure it's the Cabinet, and I know how to do it. Tonks will help us there; tomorrow is her patrolling day. Remember how we saw Malfoy at Borgin and Burkes just before our journey to Hogwarts? I have a hunch there's a connection."

* * *

**AN**: Here's another update. My usual thanks to my readers and my wonderful beta and somehow listening to Måns Zelmerlöw's "Heroes" seems suddenly very suitable thing to do.

Please review.


	20. Chapter 20: Through Disappearing Door

The next morning before breakfast, Harry and Fay found themselves standing in the corner of a gigantic high-ceilinged room, where five big tables were arranged in exactly the same way as in the Great Hall above.

The House-Elves were a blur of hustle and bustle, running between the tables and clunking with pots and pans. Breakfast was due in an hour, and the earliest risers of Hogwarts would soon be taking their allotted places.

The Aurors, as Tonks had explicitly explained to the two of them, didn't have the luxury of an eight-hour-long sleep.

"Let me get this straight," a young woman with mousy brown hair was saying between yawns as her patrolling shift was about to start, "you suspect that my baby cousin is planning to bring in his new friends and throw a party in the Slytherin dorm?"

"More like in our dorm." Harry cut in, somber. "Look, Tonks, when I overheard Malfoy talking to Borgin, he was saying, 'don't forget to keep that one safe'—I think that's it."

"Vanishing Cabinet is a pretty likely object, according to the clues we've found," Fay added helpfully. "The moment Hermione thought about it, I knew it was it—the copper dust and also Draco's research about the magical defenses of Hogwarts."

"He also wants revenge," Harry told Tonks. "He told me so at the end of last year. I got his father arrested."

"Oh, yeah, that was a good one," Tonks winked. "But all right then, how can _I_ help?"

"Hermione has a whole list of coppery objects that might potentially fit—," Fay started explaining, but Harry beat her to it.

"I need to make sure, Tonks," the raven-haired teen said. "But obviously, I can't leave Hogwarts and I have no one else to turn to."

Tonks nodded. "What are you thinking?"

"Hermione said it was possible to travel between such Cabinets," Harry said pensively, "and if so…"

"If so, then the only reason _why_ the Death Eaters haven't _actually_ come yet is because the Cabinet is faulty or something. That would also explain what he's been working on so desperately because really, he's constantly sleep-deprived and—"

"Tonks, if there _is_ another Cabinet, as Fay and I think there is," Harry cut in again, not letting Fay finish, "then it's in Borgin and Burkes."

"Which means that it's up to me to make sure," Tonks summed up, understanding Harry's request. "Only, I can't do it alone…"

The young Auror continued sipping her coffee, helping herself to the toast one of the house-elves had made for her while the teens continued watching her attentively.

"So, are you guys practising the basic self-defence moves?"

"I am," Harry said at once.

"And you?" Tonks asked Fay.

"Err," Fay stammered, "I'm… getting there."

Tonks seemed to understand. "I know it's difficult if you haven't been… very physical before, but trust me, it saves your life. And trust me, nobody likes doing the things they're not good at—that's the beauty of growing up—such words as 'duty' and 'responsibility' will invade your life like Gnomes invade wizarding gardens… And do help the others with that observation thing of yours while you're at it."

"We're practising the message encoding," Fay said as if justifying herself.

"Right," Tonks concluded. "Follow me, you two; there _is_ a person who might help us."

"Williams?" Harry asked.

"Not quite; he's too well-known, and it wouldn't be prudent—what we need if we are to take on an old sly fox like Borgin is a surprise element, which means it has to be someone whom Borgin won't know or suspect. The person I have in mind is having his first shift today, and I'm positive he's already here. Grab some food, he'll be hungry."

Exchanging a glance, both Harry and Fay quickly packed some pastries, sausages, bacon and beans as Tonks took care of the beverages.

Not wasting a moment, the teens then followed the Auror, skipping a few stairs as they ascended to the ground floor, heading for the entrance hall. For a moment, Harry thought they'd enter the Great Hall, but instead, they took a turn towards the small room Harry knew to be Filch's fish-smelling office. Apparently, there was yet another cabinet which Harry—and, judging by his companion's face, Fay—had never seen before.

"Welcome to our lair," Tonks declared, stopping a few steps ahead of them. "Just a moment."

After knocking gently, she peeked in, leaving Harry and Fay to stand dutifully just as they'd been asked to. A moment later, she motioned for them to follow.

Stepping inside, the teens found themselves in a little room, obviously a magically expanded broom cupboard, which only contained a desk, two chairs and a drawer filled with carefully arranged rolls of parchment.

"Is that all Aurors get? A big broom cupboard with Filch for a neighbour?" Harry asked incredulously, not noticing another person in the room.

At the sound of his voice, a young man who had apparently been asleep at the desk lifted his head. He had dark blond hair with occasional dark highlights; his eyes were a hazel brown, and there was a slight pigmentation to his complexion. Other than that, his face seemed to be perfectly symmetrical, fitting him into the group of people who'd be considered 'classically attractive'.

Somehow, Harry instantly knew this new Auror would be a topic among the girls at the four tables. A full day of lessons suddenly seemed appealing. Over his years at Hogwarts, Harry had grown a little allergic to giggling, considering that even Hermione of all people had gone through that awkward phase with Lockhart.

The young man in question, however, looked at them with interest before turning his gaze to Tonks. There was no trace of sleepiness in his features.

"Morning, Spot-Cat, thought you'd like to have some breakfast."

"It is very kind of you, Tonks," he answered, speaking for the first time, his eyes alert and occasionally darting back to the teenagers in the room. "Only, why do I have a feeling zis kindness comes at a price?"

"Because you're paranoid," Tonks returned nonchalantly. "Anyway, please meet my friends—this is Harry, and this is his friend Faith."

"Fay," the girl corrected automatically.

"That's what I said," Tonks objected while the other Auror helped himself to the sausages.

A little glint caught Harry's attention. He was wearing a silver ring, which had a funny 'Д' symbol on it and contained a rather intimidating-looking two-headed eagle. Harry had a feeling he'd seen it somewhere before, and then it clicked.

"Durmstrang?" he asked spontaneously.

The Auror nodded, somewhat smugly.

"We can get you a Toast Skagen actually… Or those things with cinnamon—Kanelbullar," Fay offered uncertainly, visibly trying to be polite.

This seemed to amuse the Auror.

"You've already met someone from Durmstrang, I see," he commented. "Vell, zank you, but ve don't usually have Toast Skagen for breakfast. You're very kind, but I'm fine, I'm used to English breakfast."

"Anyway," Tonks said brightly, "do you think you could be so kind as to answer some questions about our work? These two are like our dinky colleagues—with any luck, they'll be sharing our office a few years from now."

The Auror who was weirdly nicknamed 'Spot-Cat' took a gulp of his drink and looked at them curiously. "I see. Are you completely sure, zough? It's not exactly ze kind of job zat pays vell, not to mention all ze unpleasant characters you'll meet."

"Oh, come on, Spot-Cat, it's not that bad."

"Right—ve're supposed to be proud and all," came the sarcastically affirmative comment. "So, what do you two vant to know?" he went on, turning back to the teens after giving Tonks another glance.

"Err—"

"Is it true that you have to get up at 5 AM at Durmstrang?" Fay asked. "I heard some boys from your school complain about it during the Tournament…"

"Yes, zat's true," came his answer. "Ve have a tough discipline, but it's rewarding. However, based on your behaviour, it's obvious zat you didn't have any precise question in mind before stepping in here; it's more like you were invited here at ze last minute. Tonks?"

"What? You're a new colleague, and I'm curious too."

"Oh, so it's _you_ asking questions?" the young man asked as if pleasantly surprised, a cocky smile suddenly in place.

Bizarrely, Tonks lost her composure for a second.

Again, the teenagers exchanged a glance, not quite understanding what was going on. It was still too early in the morning.

"Your school," Tonks specified, "it's so bloody confusing—I mean, you are supposed to be located somewhere in the North, and yet the _D_ on your ring is Cyrillic…"

"Out of all of ze zings you could ask about my school—unbelievable—why didn't you accept my invitation last night, zen? Ve vould have had plenty of time to chat. Ze food at zat place is superb too, I've heard."

"Well, you can answer my question now, can't you? The kids want to know," Tonks rebutted a little snappishly.

Whether her colleague found the whole thing a little weird as well, Harry wasn't sure, for he seemed to think it was better to simply answer the question.

"Durmstrang vos founded in the 13th century by a famous Bulgarian witch, Nerida Vulchanova, and at first, the subjects were taught in Bulgarian, but after her death, ze school vos taken over by Harfang Munter—whom I assume you haff heard about. Munter vos as powerful a vizard as he vos famous. Under his regime, Durmstrang underwent many changes. He vos ze one who established ze curriculum, which placed a heavy accent on duelling and martial magic—something Durmstrang is still very famous for today—and, of course, ze primary teaching language has been German ever since. As ze interest for ze school grew in ze following centuries, ze subjects began to be taught not only in German, but also in English and French. We take students from many countries nowadays, provided zey have ze necessary magical abilities and enough Galleons to pay for ze tuition. Of course, zis is vot gives the school its notorious reputation: ze students who seem to be prepared for ze kind of standards Durmstrang aspires to achieve are very often pure-blood and quite vell off. Occasionally, ve also take half-Veelas, half-Goblins and Muggle-borns, zough—like I said, ze main zing is zat you haff to be prepared for ze high demands and have a whole stash of Galleons. Also, if you look closely, you vill see that 'Д' is merged with 'D'. Ve keep the Cyrillic writing as a part of ze symbolism—like you keep zose animals on ze coat of arms of Hogwarts."

"Mmm… You like being a smartass, don't you, Spotty?" Tonks asked, relaxing and baiting her colleague a little more. "But basically, you are right about me inviting my friends to our… err, fancy broom cupboard. I'll explain in a second, but first, do you know how that saying goes: _the friend of thy friend is… thy friend_… um, something like that, no?"

At this, the other Auror actually laughed.

"Ze saying goes, _ze enemy of my enemy is my friend_, Tonks—how can I help?"

"Well, you are a decent guy, so I thought that since I needed a child, I could… you know, turn to you…"

In response, the Auror seemed to choke a little on virtually nothing.

"Oh, look, it's really easy," Tonks carried on, frustrated. "I helped you out the other day, so now you help me out. I promise not to get you in trouble. You take a few gulps of the De-aging Potion and wisely pretend to be a kid who's got lost; meanwhile, I'll do my thing and come to pick you up—I'll need about ten minutes. We can go and grab a drink somewhere afterwards."

"Oh, I understand now—you need help viz something zat you'd razer keep secret, don't you? And since I haff joined ze office only recently, I'm ze perfect candidate; nobody knows me," the Durmstrang Auror summed up, returning to the last remains of his breakfast. "Zis favour has to do viz your friends, has it not?"

"It is very important, and we don't have anyone to turn to outside of school," Fay said seriously, a note of pleading in her voice, as Harry nodded.

"I haff only one question: ven you find what you are looking for—what vill happen zen?" the Auror named Spotty asked.

"We'll call backup, and pretending we've been acting on an anonymous tip, we'll confiscate the item in question." Tonks shrugged. "And then… if you want… we can grab a drink…"

Her colleague merely smiled at her in a clearly dismissive manner. "It eez all right, Tonks; you vere very clear last night. I can take 'no' for an answer."

Tonks opened her mouth as if to say something, but her colleague had already turned to address Harry.

"Viktor said you could fly well," he said casually, shocking the teenager a little. "Ve live nearby, so that's how I know him. Vot I couldn't have guessed is zat Tonks and you know each other."

"What can I say, the world is smaller than you know," Tonks commented wisely, looking hurt for some reason. "So, will you help us?"

"You're a blackmailer, Tonks," the Durmstrang Auror declared. "You must know very well that if I say no, it will make me look bad."

"Mmm, guilty. Sorry, Spotty—I don't usually play dirty."

"It's all right, you are obviously being a good friend here," her colleague smiled, tilting his head towards Harry and Fay. "Shouldn't you introduce me properly first, though?"

"Oh, yeah, well, these are Harry, as you've recognized, and his classmate, Faith," Tonks introduced. "And this here is Vasil Guðbrandrsen, the newest addition to our office. He is better known by his colourful moniker, 'Spot-Cat' or just 'Spotty'. He is obviously a crazy person even for Durmstrang—I mean, who else would come to work _here_ right _now_ for a measly salary? And as far as the pronunciation of his last name goes, give it up, it's hopeless."

The Auror rolled his eyes at Tonks but didn't appear to be upset.

The four of them chattered some more until they were ushered out by Tonks, who promised Harry once again that he'd get the answer on the Cabinet by the next morning, which was when her next shift would start.

By the time Harry took the turn to the Great Hall with Fay at his heels, the majority of the students had already gathered at their respective House tables for breakfast.

"I wonder why Tonks declined that other Auror's dinner invitation—had he invited me, _I'_d have accepted without a second thought—Durmstrang boys are very gallant… Speaking of which, I'll be eating at the Ravenclaw table today," Fay blabbered.

Harry just shrugged. Tonks was apparently going through tough times with someone having recently rejected her, as she'd confessed to him and Hermione. It wasn't something he was willing to discuss with Fay.

"Why are you eating at the Ravenclaw table?" he asked instead.

"Parvati will be there, and we have to discuss the upcoming Valentine's plans—the four of us— Luna, Padma, Parvati and I—should be going to Hogsmeade." Fay answered simply. "Hence my earlier thought about Durmstrang. The thing is, Harry, Parvati has… a little erroneous opinion about you. You know, after the Ball."

"She's still angry about that?" Harry gawked, incredulous. "Wait, what about Lavender? Are you taking her too?"

Fay _humph_-d, appearing to be deep in thought. "You know, Harry, you're lucky you're not sharing the girls' dorm at the moment—there's so much drama that even _I _am lost. Parvati and Lavender have fallen out because of Ronald, and then Parvati starts hanging out with her sister, who's now closer to Luna, and Luna is _my _friend of sorts, and then there's Hermione, who's been moderately friendly lately, but then again, she is not friends with anyone besides you and Ronald, and so it gets a little confusing… Let's leave it at this: 'Parvati asked me to come and I'll go'."

"Right," Harry said, not really understanding any of this.

"Now, speaking of the Yule Ball," Fay went on, "you have to understand that the Hogwarts boys behaved awfully to begin with, compared to the Beauxbatons and the Durmstrang boys—and you completely ignored Parvati on top of that."

"I don't like the limelight," Harry answered, thinking that it was something Fay should have gathered a long time ago. "Besides, I had that egg on my mind."

"_I _know that, Harry, but does Parvati know? You've never even tried to explain any of this to her, and not everybody pays attention to details like we do—wait, what egg?"

Harry sighed, only muttering _'_the dragon egg' in response. Ron and Hermione were already sitting at the Gryffindor table, waving at him, and at the moment, he'd rather enjoy what was left of breakfast with them than facing one of the most notorious witches of the school and having a potentially awkward conversation.

Fay seemed to have followed his gaze because she chose not to insist and bid him goodbye, flashing an understanding smile before marching off in the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

Harry headed straight for his own House table.

"Hey, mate," Ron greeted as soon as Harry landed on the bench next to him, feeling a little exhausted but pleased that the whole thing was finally in motion.

"Where have you been, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I was waiting for you to come down when Ron said you'd left early."

"I was talking to Tonks," Harry answered.

"Why?" Ron asked. "It's not like she's a real Auror—she's Tonks—you know, makes funny faces and all…"

Hermione pursed her lips at Ron's dismissal of Tonks, but Harry beat her to it.

"Do you know how many students have approached her?" he asked Ron. "She's being this approachable on purpose. Mind you, she's better-informed about stuff than most of the teachers. Besides, remember that punch?"

Ron had his mouth stuffed with bacon, so all he could do was gawk, Harry's punch still fresh in his mind. Hermione, on the other hand, rolled her eyes.

"Boys," she grumbled before noticing Harry was alone.

"Isn't Fay joining us?" she asked.

"Err… no, she's with Parvati and her sister."

"Th-d-ee-ung-oo—wiz—us," came Ron's incomprehensible mumbling over his mouthful of food.

Hermione looked disapproving. "You really shouldn't talk while you're eating, Ronald."

Ron swallowed and addressed Harry, ignoring Hermione's remark, "I thought she was hanging out with us now—Fairy, I mean."

"Err, no—we just have a case together. Anyway, what's all that?"

The question was addressed to Hermione, for unlike Ron, who had several plates around himself, Hermione was occupying the whole space with a bunch of parchment covered with different numbers.

"Arithmancy," Hermione answered swiftly to Harry's not-so-eloquent question.

"They really give you loads of homework in that subject, don't they?" Harry asked faintly, watching the miles-long charts of numbers Hermione was busy with.

To his mild surprise, though, Hermione blushed a little.

"It's… it's not homework… I calculate ahead…"

Ron actually choked on his pumpkin juice at that. "Ew, _why_?"

Hermione opened her mouth but then quickly closed as if unsure of something. Harry looked at her questioningly, prompting her to talk.

"I… you'll laugh if I tell you," the girl whispered quietly.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance; neither of them would ever laugh at Hermione. Well, in their third grade, Ron had laughed at Hermione's Boggart, but that had been nothing—Hermione had laughed at his fear of spiders too.

"Daphne Greengrass," Hermione spoke as if despite herself, "she… she always gets the right answer first, and Professor Vector just _loves_ her—even if I raise my hand, she still asks _her_… and… well, Greengrass rubs it under my nose…"

"Green-who?" Ron asked, baffled, helping himself to more bacon. "I mean, everybody knows you're the best, Hermione!"

Hermione genuinely smiled at him for this, forgetting they'd spent months without even talking to each other because of all this Lavender drama.

"That's her," she said, pointing at someone at the Slytherin table.

Harry followed her indication. Daphne Greengrass turned out to be a witch of their year—a Slytherin girl with silvery blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes—who was rated as one of the most beautiful girls of the school if Seamus were to be believed. Harry certainly wasn't going to deny that she wasn't exactly lacking in the looks department. Coincidentally, she also seemed to be calculating something, from what Harry could see, for her hand movements weren't persistent enough for a continuous writing.

"Ron's right, Hermione." Harry said quickly. "You're the best—I mean, Slughorn makes you attend practically every gathering, and McGonagall always gives you extra points."

Hermione smiled humbly.

"Well, Professor Slughorn wants _her_ to attend too—the last time, she played the violin at our party—"

Suddenly Hermione paused, suspicious. "Why did you bring up Slughorn, Harry? You spent half of the school year avoiding him."

Harry looked at either side of him, making sure nobody was sitting nearby, then lowered his voice.

"Last night, Dumbledore showed me more memories. And this time, I need to..."

In a whisper, Harry had told them about the latest memories and about the Horcruxes.

When he was finished, both Ron and Hermione just stared at him.

For the first time since Harry could remember, he felt disappointed; apparently, Hermione had never heard of the term and didn't have even the faintest idea what Horcruxes were.

"I've never heard of them," the girl shrugged.

"You—you haven't?"

"No," Hermione said earnestly, "and if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him, he must be really determined to hide all this Horcrux business…"

"Well, couldn't you—," Harry started.

"Go to the library and look it up?" Hermione finished for him, sighing. "I actually _just left _the library, seeing how I had to look up all the coppery objects that could suit your suspicions."

"So?" Ron objected. "Isn't that your idea of having fun anyway? And besides, I don't think you have to worry about Slughorn, Harry—he loves you. Seriously, just use the Prince's book to brew some cool potion—that'll do the trick."

Hermione rolled her eyes, appearing sceptical, but for once, Harry knew it was something he had to figure out on his own.

A pleasant scent of flowers descended on him just as his vision was obscured by something red.

"Look at this!" Ginny cried enthusiastically, her face somewhere above his as she came to stand right behind him. "It's something for you."

Harry turned around and looked at her quizzically as she threw an announcement in front of him. Apparently, she'd torn it from the bulletin board in their Common Room.

_APPARITION LESSONS_

_If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before August 31st, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons._

"Wow," Ron said while Hermione nodded, "I've been really looking forward to it!"

"You'll be great, Harry," Ginny said. "I mean, didn't you mention at the Burrow you'd already Apparated?"

"I—hi, Dean," Harry greeted as Ginny's boyfriend came to sit with them as well. "It was a Side-Along Apparition."

"How does it feel?" Dean asked curiously.

"Like you're being squeezed through a tight pipe," Harry answered flatly.

"But nothing Harry couldn't handle, Dean," Ginny said hastily.

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, his expression quickly turning sour as if his morning had suddenly been ruined.

"What are you writing, Hermione?" the boy asked instead, leaving Ginny's compliment to Harry without a comment.

"She's not writing, she's calculating—she wants to outdo that stupid Greensnake from Slytherin," Ron explained cheerfully.

Hermione shot him an offended look and, once again, blushed a little, looking a tad apologetic.

"D'you mean Daphne Greengrass?" Dean asked, looking at the Slytherin table. "She's so hot…"

Ginny noticed the direction of his gaze.

"_Hot,_ you say?" she demanded angrily, rounding on Dean. "Sorry to blow your bubble, but reptiles are cold-blooded—in case you didn't know, I recommend you go back to whatever establishment you attended before coming to Hogwarts!"

With that, Ginny spun around, bidding all of them a quick goodbye and saying, 'it was good to see you' to Harry before marching off.

The rest of the breakfast was a bit awkward after that, but Ron soon engaged Dean in a conversation about Quidditch. Dean, it seemed, wanted to try out for a reserve Keeper but had been afraid to ask knowing, how much Ron liked that position.

Harry's trail of thought, meanwhile, returned to both Malfoy's case and also the Horcruxes—whatever they were.

It was a relief that Tonks was on his side. She had connections outside of Hogwarts, and she also had colleagues she could trust. It wouldn't be difficult for her and that Durmstrang colleague of hers to make sure whether Borgin really had a twin Cabinet in his shop. All Harry could do for now was wait for the news, for if there _were_ a twin Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes, Tonks would confiscate it, thus ruining Malfoy's plans.

As such, Harry's priorities for now were the Horcruxes.

As the bell rang, some of the Gryffindor sixth year students including Harry went downstairs to have their first lesson: Potions with Slughorn.

They were still dealing with the section on antidotes, and it didn't take very long for Harry to understand that this particular antidote would cost him his reputation of an amazing Potioneer. It certainly didn't help that Hermione was now working alone and wouldn't help even if he asked her to—she'd loathed being outperformed in every class, and as far as she was concerned, she had already helped enough by giving him and Fay an important lead in the investigation.

Ron was just as helpless as Harry, and Fay was paired with Malfoy again; both were working diligently without speaking to each other, it seemed.

"Remember, class: do not forget about the proportions of the ingredients—it is the dose that makes all the difference," Slughorn boomed cheerfully while the students were busy sorting out all the ingredients between different phials. "Yet at the same time, do not forget about the Golpalott's Third Law either. Two important aspects to keep in mind."

From time to time, the professor would approach different students to observe their progress as they were busy sorting everything out.

As Slughorn proceeded to peer into Harry and Ron's cauldron, however, he was forced to withdraw—the boys' potion looked like a kind of slimy goo and smelled rather unpleasantly.

Golpalott or no Golpalott, they were about to turn into the laughing stock of the whole class, that much was certain.

Harry bent over the Prince's book and turned a few pages, desperately trying to find at least _something_ useful, for at this stage, the textbook didn't have any instructions on _how_ to determine the necessary proportions. Sure, at this rate, it was something everybody assumed the students already knew how to do, but obviously, the author of the book couldn't have predicted it was Snape who had taught them before, which meant that many of them—unless it were a Hermione-like genius—were actually quite clueless about this kind of stuff.

"What's that Galloping law?" Ron asked Harry, clueless, as the raven-haired teen frantically gripped on to the Prince's old book.

Finally, Harry saw it—written in a tiny quick script, in a more careless writing than usual.

_Just shove a bezoar down their throats._

For a few moments, Harry just stared.

_Bezoar_.

The word rang a bell. Snape had mentioned it once—maybe twice—but Harry wasn't sure.

Had Snape still been their teacher, Harry would have never dared to do this, but as he heard Slughorn's booming voice call, 'time's UP', he didn't think twice. They'd messed up all the ingredients as it was.

"Now, time for evaluation," Slughorn's loud voice commented at the other end of the Dungeon chamber. "Blaise, what have you got for me?"

Slowly, the professor moved around the room, examining the various antidotes. To some students, he posed questions.

"Miss Granger," Slughorn asked jovially, "could you cite Golpalott's Third Law to me please?"

"Golpalott's Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison—that is a mixture of two or more different poisons—cannot be simply created by blending together different antidotes for that particular poison mixture; instead, the potionmaker has to determine which particular antidote—or a mixture of antidotes—will work against that particular mixture of poisons. Sometimes the proportions have to be adjusted accordingly," Hermione said in one breath.

Slughorn appeared to be pleased; however, he asked a few more questions before moving to Fay and Malfoy's table, giving them a fair share of criticism on everything they had done wrong.

The last table for him to reach was the table where the boys had been working.

Ron looked completely defeated.

Harry, meanwhile, was already back, having rummaged in a cupboard containing several boxes of unicorn horns and dried herbs and a box which had the word _BEZOARS_ scribbled onto it in an eerily familiar handwriting.

His palms sweaty, Harry held his breath.

"Well, Harry?" Slughorn asked, looking at him expectantly just as Ron turned sullenly away. This time, Slughorn hadn't even bothered to look at his work.

Trying not to look at Ron, Harry opened his palm, letting the small stone show.

Slughorn just stared. For a moment, Harry thought the teacher would start yelling at him, but then—unexpectedly—there was a booming laughter.

"Ho-hooo—you've got some nerve, boy!" Slughorn praised, taking Bezoar from Harry for everybody to see. "Now look here, everybody—THIS is how you save yourself a lot of work—always think on your feet like Harry does. Indeed, had any of you prepared in advance, you'd know that a bezoar does the trick!"

Slughorn continued laughing, patting Harry's shoulder as he did so.

"Oh, I can't really fault you—cheeky just like your mother you are, my boy. The bezoar is indeed an antidote to all of the poisons we have dealt with in this section, and had any of your classmates read up on it, they would know it too. But do remember that you really need to know how to prepare the antidote as well, for it is not every day you come across a bezoar. Ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek and quick thinking!"

Hermione seemed to be on the verge of crying, Ron angry and disappointed. Even Malfoy's sour face couldn't really outbalance the feeling that he'd just let his friends down, but Harry tried not to think about that.

At least Fay didn't appear to be angry—if anything, she looked impressed, and that was even worse.

As such, both of his friends stormed out the moment the lesson was over without wishing him good luck with Slughorn.

Harry, on his part, dawdled behind, his heart heavy, waiting until everyone else had left. He didn't really know how to ask about the Horcruxes, and now that he thought it about it, he should have prepared for it. He should have studied Slughorn's background or something, he should have had a plan on how to start this conversation—he should have discussed it, even if only with himself, in his mind, so that he would be prepared.

"Come on now, Harry," Slughorn said, vanishing all the mess and preparing the Dungeon for the next class, "you will be late for your next lesson if you don't hurry up."

"Sir," Harry started carefully, trying not to sound like the young Voldemort, "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask anything, my boy."

"Sir, I… I was wondering if… if… you know anything about… erm… Horcruxes…"

Harry's voice had all but died away towards the end. He knew he shouldn't have asked even before he finished the sentence, but it was too late now. The words tended to be like birds—once released, impossible to catch.

Slughorn froze.

"What did you say?" the professor suddenly demanded, his voice completely changed.

There wasn't a trace of the jovial old man who adored Harry for his apparent talent.

"Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?" Slughorn then demanded, furious. "Well, I told him before—and I tell you now—I know nothing about such vile magic, NOTHING."

And before Harry knew it, he was ushered out of the Dungeons, completely flabbergasted, not understanding anything except that he'd just made a very big mistake.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

As the day progressed, Harry's luck didn't improve in the slightest. He caught up with Ron and Hermione just before the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and neither of them looked very happy with him.

"Just say it," Harry sighed, addressing both of them.

"Could have shared that bezoar with me, mate," Ron grumbled immediately, looking every ounce like a person who'd just been let down.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to refrain from raising her voice.

Harry looked her straight in the eye, and she took it as a sign.

"I can't believe you did this, Harry," the girl whispered almost shrilly. "You had already _convinced_ me you were making progress in Potions, and now you just cheat again?!"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Hermione foresaw his argument.

"I know what you are going to say: that you've been studying with Fay and that she taught you to always look at all the ingredients separately and try to predict what kind of effect they would have rather than just stupidly copy the instructions as if you were reading a pie recipe. But did you do that? No, Harry, you didn't—you simply took someone else's answer and used it without thinking of the consequences, and in a real life situation, using someone else's advice without applying your brain is exactly the kind of thing that will get you in trouble!"

"I panicked, all right?" Harry demanded in return, uncharacteristically defensive for once. "I know it was wrong of me, but Slughorn was approaching, and I couldn't make a fool of myself in front of Slytherins. Besides, I had a task…"

"How did it go?" Ron asked immediately.

Harry grimaced—and this in itself said it all.

"Well, you should have thought it through." Hermione said smartly, and while anger was still pronounced in her tone, there wasn't any mean edge to it.

They looked at each other for another short moment, and then Hermione sighed heavily.

"You really should stop copying other people's work, Harry. It's not fair to anyone."

"I know," Harry said. "Look, I promise I'll prepare for the next class. What should I do with Slughorn now?"

Neither Hermione nor Ron seemed to have an answer to that question, though. They merely looked back at him, clearly clueless, and hadn't it been for some commotion just behind them, the silence would have stretched on.

"That was brilliant!" Fay's voice rang out from behind him, startling all of them a little. "How did you think of a bezoar? Neither Blaise nor I had thought of it—and trust me, if there is an area we're kind of experts in, it's herbs and stuff. He totally banged his head against his desk, by the way—oh, and so did I—that hurt actually; honestly though, it was a brilliant solution!"

Fay had said all this in one breath and was now looking at him expectantly.

For some reason, it made Harry feel even worse.

Without bothering to answer, Harry just opened his backpack and revealed the Prince's book. To anyone else, it would have looked like any other copy, for Harry had switched the covers, but Fay knew better.

"Oh," she said, looking every ounce like a person whose balloon had just been punctured by a needle. "Exceptionally nasty _and _genius. But are you quite sure this Prince is your friend, Harry? Because, you know, I wouldn't trust him…"

Hermione jumped at this chance.

"See, Harry? Even Fay is telling you the same thing."

Fay blinked and then looked back at them, first at Hermione and then at the boys.

"Eh?"

"Bloody mental, that one is—don't pay attention. Why d'you think the Prince is nasty, though? I think he's hilarious," Ron grunted out, answering Fay's unvoiced question while pointing at Hermione and asking his own question in return. It was the first time he was kind of acknowledging Fay.

Fay seemed to sense it, for she too did something she hadn't done before. It was a simple friendly smile, but considering the fact that those two had never even known about each other's existence for the previous five years, it was something.

"Oh, well, this Prince invented quite a few nasty spells—all of them with the purpose of hurting the others, even if they may seem funny. It makes me a little uneasy."

Hermione nodded, although she didn't want to let Ron's remark about her being 'mental' slide so easily either.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said sarcastically. "That was the best introduction you could have come up with, honestly—I'm really flattered."

Ron looked up at her cautiously, but it was plain she wasn't really angry, so he cracked yet another joke, visibly relieved.

"Well, it's not like it's not true or anything. By the way, Fairy, will you sit with us now?"

"Fay," the girl corrected automatically. "I'd love to, actually, but I doubt—"

Whatever she doubted though, they never got the chance to find out, for the next second, the door to the classroom opened, and the students entered the room, which Snape had managed to turn quite dungeon-like despite the fact that they were quite high up in the castle.

The moment they entered, there was a deadly silence that only Snape was able to guarantee.

"Sit down," he said in his usual icy tone, his black eyes sweeping the room.

The class did as told, looking as grim as the dungeon itself.

"I have graded the quiz you completed last week," he went on, putting one sallow hand on the pile of parchment on his desk. "I regret to say it was an atrocious experience. Many among you would be well-advised to go back to the first grade and revise the basics. If you wish to pass your N.E.W.T. exam, and I shall be most displeased if you do not give it your full effort, you will have to learn to use your brains."

The long fingers seized the parchment on the very top of the pile and unrolled it.

"Take Mr Finnigan's answers, for instance. Imagination can be useful in many instances, but if you were to face a Dark creature or a curse, you would need precise knowledge, Mr Finnigan. Buffoonery would not save you." Snape peered into the quiz. "_What creature flourishes best in cold and damp places?_ You will notice that the sentence is formulated in singular and not plural; therefore the name of only one creature is required. Nevertheless, Mr Finnigan decided to conjure an entire list, mixing magical beasts and common animals in the process. Ghouls, rats, banshees, cockroaches. All of them wrong."

Everybody in the class sniggered while Seamus sullenly accepted his paper. It had an 'D' on it.

Snape took another parchment. "Miss Brown was just as inventive. There is only one correct answer to the question, _what is the best defence against the Inferi_? And it isn't _warmth_, Miss Brown, whatever this word is meant to imply. Embracing an Imperius is hardly a defence one would recommend."

The laughter came harder than ever, and Lavender's lips trembled slightly.

"I know the correct answer to both questions," Ron muttered, nudging Harry. "Throw Snape at the Inferius in a dark damp place."

Harry couldn't help but smirk, and unfortunately, Snape noticed it.

"Mr Potter," Snape uttered in a low, dangerous voice, "the last question was, _if you don't have your wand with you to cast Incendio, what will you do_? Funny, but I don't see any answer."

"Yes." Harry answered, staring right back at the hated teacher. "That's because it's_ your_ job to give answers."

Several students including Hermione gasped. Snape seemed to share the class's impression that Harry had gone too far. Slowly, he advanced towards Harry's desk, putting his sallow hands on it and staring into Harry's unyielding eyes.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor, Potter," he declared in his deadliest voice. "And if I hear you criticize the way I teach my classes again, it will be detention until the end of the term. If you had bothered to pay attention during lessons and to read your books, you would know that the most efficient way to fight off an Inferius without a wand is to fend it off with the Scintillus incantation, which grants you several seconds to escape."

"Right," Harry grunted hatefully. "_Now_ you'll tell us—let me guess—another five points if we don't start copying it down?"

Snape's jaw twitched as if the man wanted to hex him this very instant, but Harry glared defiantly back at him, not backing off. Before Snape could say anything else, though, there was a loud crack, and a puff of smoke appeared out of nowhere, making it impossible to breathe.

Snape quit his verbal duel with Harry at once and rushed towards the source of the smoke before panic could ensue, raising his wand to extinguish the fire that had produced it. As the smoke slowly dissipated, a burned and twisted magical plant came into view. Fay was sitting beside it, slightly flushed.

"Oops," she commented. "I… wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. Didn't you ask us to cast Incendio? Well, I... did."

Harry stared, as did the rest of them. It was _obviously_ the case of someone _wanting_ a detention but not knowing what to do about it.

The question was _why_.

Harry wished he could ask her. He briefly looked at Ron and Hermione to see if they had any idea, but they looked just as stunned at the lesson development as he himself probably did.

The next instant, Snape spoke again.

"Detention, Miss Dunbar. You will stay behind after this class is over. Your answers to the quiz might have been correct, but given your poor timing and inability to handle the most basic spells, theory will do you little good."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dean beat him to it. "Shouldn't you make sure she's all right instead of assigning detentions? What if she got burned or something?"

If people had been gasping before, it had been nothing, compared to what was happening now.

Harry was one thing. Everybody knew about his feelings towards Snape. But _Dean_?!

This was proving to be too much even for Snape. Apparently, no one had ever talked back to him this much in one class. Usually a single searing remark would subdue his students into silence, and here, students were rebelling one after another. "Mr Thomas, no one asked for your input. You will join Potter and Miss Dunbar for this evening's detention."

"Yes, Sir," Dean conceded, his brief surge of bravery quickly subdued.

Nobody else seemed to want to mess with Snape either. He was very angry as it was.

"Ten points from Gryffindor each for Miss Dunbar and Mr Thomas," Snape added. "Mr Finnigan, take these rolls of parchment and distribute them. Now, since Inferi have already been covered, we will start studying Acromantulas. Open your books at the page 254."

It took a little time before the class could recover from such a turbulent start, but Snape's glare was a good motivation, and they all had their books open in no time, reading up on the topic.

Harry was seething quietly, careful to not look at Fay. Whatever her motives had been, she'd tell him later.

It wasn't before the bell rang that Harry knew he truly was in trouble. All three Gryffindors had stayed behind, but it was he, Harry, whom Snape instructed to stay behind once both Fay and Dean had received their detention. They had to scrub old cauldrons until midnight—stuff that had probably been used for so long it _couldn't _even be cleaned anymore.

If this were _their_ punishment, Harry really didn't want to imagine what the grease-head had in store for _him_.

"I know you went to the Slytherin common room at the beginning of the term, Potter," the man stated as soon as they were left alone.

Harry tried to play the clueless as best he could.

"Excuse me?" he asked innocently. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Indeed?" Snape's cold black eyes glinted dangerously, and he came closer, his cloak billowing around him. "You were there under your Cloak, Potter. Believe me, I know your style. You got your hands on an illegal potion and sneaked into a forbidden area because famous Harry Potter is above rules. Not to mention the serious damage you have caused to another student. Therefore mark my words, Potter: I don't care if you have fans among the staff and the Ministry employees. If you ever cross the line again, you will find yourself wishing you had been expelled."

"Right," Harry snapped. "Duly noted. Will you please be so kind as to finally assign the detention? I'm rather busy, you see; my fans are waiting."

He had no proof. Not yet.

And as such, Harry stayed calm, at least for now: Snape couldn't do anything.

Snape's eyes flashed, and his sallow face turned an ugly reddish shade. "You will come to my office at eight sharp. There is no need to bring your wand."

"Yes, Sir." Harry spat hatefully.

He was remembering the end of the previous year now. He'd been desperate. Umbridge and her stupid Squad had all of them as good as tied up when Harry had been certain Sirius was being held captive by Voldemort. Snape could have given him a vague, subtle sign which Harry would have understood, but no. Moreover, they'd left for the Ministry at dusk. They'd spent hours on Thestrals and some three hours inside the Ministry, running for their lives from the Death Eaters. And yet Snape had sent the Order to the rescue only by the time it was almost dawn. What had he been doing all this time? Had he sent the Order there sooner, Sirius would have been alive! Everything that had happened was essentially Snape's fault, and Harry even knew why the man had acted that way: he hadn't been really helping. He never really helped: he merely acted as if he did, occasionally sacrificing certain people of the one side to the other side. After all, some Death Eaters had been captured the previous year too. It must have been the ideal outcome for Snape: to give some dead Order members to Voldemort and some captured Death Eaters to the Order, and neither side could blame him. Except for Harry. And this was why Harry hated Snape.

Understanding he was dismissed, the teenager hastily exited, finding Fay—and, to his mild surprise, also Dean—waiting for him on the either side of the door.

"Everything all right?" Dean asked, looking at Harry sympathetically.

"With Snape?" Harry returned sarcastically. "Couldn't be better."

"If it's of any consolation, our detention won't be a picnic either," Dean assured him before turning towards Fay. "Speaking of which, why did you get yourself into this?"

"Was it that obvious?" Fay asked.

Neither Harry nor Dean bothered to answer—Fay's little bonfire was the very definition of the word 'obvious'.

"Well, I wanted to talk to Harry," the girl explained as there wasn't any reply. "And since it was pretty clear that you'd be spending your evening cleaning Snape's dishes…"

Harry grimaced. Snape actually _could_ assign him the dishes duties. It was Dean again who spoke instead.

"Lucky you," he grinned at Harry. "I can only wish chicks would talk to me, let alone get themselves in trouble only to be near me—now that's devotion for you. Must be a celebrity thing."

"Hey!" Fay protested, unsure why exactly she did.

"See you later, Dean," Harry said meaningfully.

Dean got the hint.

"Ouch, you guys are serious. No worries, I'm going. See you at the detention then."

Harry and Fay watched Dean go. As soon he had disappeared behind the corner, the raven-haired teen turned to face his companion.

"Well?" he asked.

Fay was absently playing with her magnifying glass chain.

"You're not having a very good day, are you?" she asked, observing him.

Harry shrugged. He was in a bad mood but didn't want to—and couldn't—tell her anything about the Horcruxes and his fiasco with Slughorn. It was true, though: while the day had begun in a very promising way with Tonks organising a non-official kind of mini-raid on Borgin and Burkes, it had gone downhill from there.

"It's nothing," he shrugged in the end.

"Right," Fay muttered absently, starting to walk with Harry in the direction of the Great Hall. "I've been thinking: even if Tonks helps us and even if there's a twin Cabinet at Borgin and Burkes, just like we assume there is, how does it really prove Draco has had something to do with it? I mean, even if the Cabinet is confiscated, Borgin will play the clueless and say he didn't know these things were illegal or something. Meanwhile, Draco will just come up with something else—assuming it _is_ him and we are not wrong—because well, it's just that while he is definitely hiding _something_, we can't actually be sure it's what we think it is. You say you saw him at Borgin and Burkes just before the school year started, and he was threatening Borgin—that's only your word. Then there is circumstantial evidence against him. The tome we found in his dormitory and also the copper dust—neither of these things are illegal in any way. So in the end, we _actually_ have a dry theory with no proof, and we can't even be absolutely sure our theory is correct, even if we think it is. I'm just telling you how the Aurors will see it."

Harry listened, his bad mood working in his favour, rendering him more analytical.

"You're right," he said. "We need to catch him red-handed."

"We really do," Fay agreed immediately. "Only this way will it be possible to charge him with at least something and present the evidence, or else it will look like we've made it all up because we don't like him. Sweet Godric, that's exactly what it looks like from the side right now."

"I know what we'll do," Harry said, an idea occurring to him. "Do you know what is behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy?"

"Err, no," Fay admitted swiftly.

"There's a room called the Room of Requirement. It's a room that will convert into any place you need it to be. For instance, if you want to hide somewhere quickly, it'll convert into a broom cupboard, but if you need to practice spells, it'll be a classroom."

Fay gawked at him.

"You mean, there's a _room_ like that? Where have I been living?!"

Harry actually smiled a little. "We had DA lessons there—you know, Dumbledore's Army."

"Oh, so the rumours were true?"

Fay seemed to be really surprised but also somewhat sad at having been excluded.

"You should have joined us. I mean, we took even Smith—not that I was thrilled."

"Well, you guys only invited the people you knew—the friends of your friends—and I wasn't anyone's friend."

"Anyway," Harry proceeded, quickly changing the topic, "Tonks told us she had seen a Hufflepuff first year having a stroll all alone just an hour before curfew, which seemed off to her while her colleague—determined to find her—had come across Goyle accompanied by none other than Snape. That means only one thing: he's doing something in the Room of Requirement. I actually understood it already back then; I only didn't know _what _it was about—not before you and Hermione figured out it was the Cabinet."

"Hermione figured it out." Fay reminded him, "not me. What do you have in mind?"

Harry looked at either side of them to make sure no one was near.

"Do you remember my map? You know, the one—"

"I know, I know," Fay said hastily, figuring it wasn't such a good idea to mention either the Cloak or the map to many people. They had used both items when they had been impersonating Pansy and Blaise, and it was better to keep this secret even though Draco suspected them.

"Anyway," Harry said again, "we'll go there after lunch—walk past it three times, thinking that we need to see the room that Malfoy's using. This way, we'll get in and see everything for ourselves and call Tonks while her shift isn't over yet."

Fay looked doubtful but nodded all the same.

"After lunch then," she agreed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

At last, when the evening finally fell, it was Fay's turn to feel exhausted. They had spent a whole afternoon near the tapestry walking back and forth with only Draco Malfoy on their mind. It was becoming a little scary actually—like they were some overly obsessive fans of his. Yet worst of all, they had had no success.

It certainly didn't help improve Harry's mood. Whatever had happened to him, Fay wasn't sure; she had simply observed his mood deteriorate after the Potions lesson. Perhaps it was because Slughorn had understood that the bezoar hadn't been Harry's idea after all and had told him so after the lesson. Fay honestly doubted that, for they hadn't been writing a test or anything, but just finishing up with the antidote section. In the end, it was better not to think about it too much; Harry was much like herself in the sense of worrying and keeping secrets, so when—and if—he felt it was time to tell her, he would. She wasn't like Hermione after all: while the girl was undoubtedly brilliant and an extremely loyal friend, she could be a little overbearing, and so Fay kind of understood the boys when they wanted space.

Her own day, meanwhile, had dragged on without any significant occurrence. Tonks and that handsome Durmstrang Auror would raid Borgin's shop this very evening.

February 12th.

Fay marked the date in her notebook, waiting anxiously. On the next day, on 13th, they would get an answer from the Aurors, but still, all their Draco theory remained just that—a theory—even if judging by everything, they simply _couldn't_ be wrong.

Fay heaved a sigh as her eyes landed on the date of 14th in her notebook. The four of them—Parvati, Padma, Luna, and she, had made up their minds to go for a Valentine's shopping. Fay had never really had any shopping experience like this, but Parvati assured her it would be fun, and Luna's insight was the best at all times.

Before all that, there was the much-dreaded detention. In fact, she was already in front of the door of Snape's office, but she hadn't knocked. She didn't want to go in alone without Dean.

Luckily, the boy appeared soon, panting a little as he jogged towards her.

"Merlin, I need more workout—thanks for waiting for me."

"No problem," Fay answered, giving him time to get his breathing under control. "I didn't want Snape to think you were late or something. We're on time anyway."

"Good thinking," Dean nodded. "Otherwise he'd keep us in here all night. Oh, I almost forgot: I brought a pair for you too."

The boy promptly tossed her a pair of gloves, which she swiftly caught, looking at him questioningly.

"These have been charmed," Dean explained. "Trust me, Snape will make us scrub the worst cauldrons he could possibly find in the whole castle; who knows what kind of stuff these cauldrons contained. These gloves are charmed to repel any harmful stuff. And trust me, they work; took us quite a while to perfect."

"Us?" Fay asked.

"Seamus and I asked some older students for help back in the day, so Angelina helped, and Wood… and the twins, of course. Trust me, these are the ultimate anti-Snape gloves."

Fay couldn't help but snigger at the 'anti-Snape' bit, and as such, it was less scary to knock on the door, behind which the greasy-haired professor was waiting for them.

In fact, the whole detention didn't turn out to be so scary in the end. Dean was good company and easy to talk to. Half an hour into cleaning the horribly dirty pots, they'd started talking about their hobbies, and it turned out that Muggles had quite similar interests to wizards: music, sports, and various DIY projects among girls. Dean also shared some of his life stories with her. Mr Thomas was actually his stepfather, a Muggle his mum had married after Dean's own father had disappeared, and he had several half-siblings who actually liked his 'weirdness'. With Dean, it was impossible not to. He was exactly the kind of person who made everything look cool, be it magic or football.

"Speaking of football," Fay muttered in the course of the conversation, "is it very different from Quidditch?"

Dean gave her a curious look.

"Are you really interested?" he asked. "I mean, you're a pure-blood."

"What does it have to do with anything? How is it different from asking for a Raggmunk recipe?"

"What's Raggmunk?" Dean asked curiously in turn.

"A Swedish dish," Fay answered immediately. "Quite tasty stuff; I've asked my penfriend for the recipe. They're potato crêpes. I can give you the recipe if you want—if you like them, of course."

"Sounds tasty," Dean mused. "I like crêpes of any kind, but I've honestly never had Raggmunks."

"Really? Why?" the girl wondered. "I mean, they served all kinds of tasty dishes during the Tournament."

"Eh… let's say I didn't risk it," Dean said uncomfortably. "I know, I know—not exactly wise. If the Tournament was held now, I swear I'd beat Ron in an eating competition."

Fay laughed.

"I can still give you the recipe."

"Thanks. So football, eh? The field is about one hundred yards vast—can be a little more—and there are eleven players on the team, but seven players are also possible. The whole match is played in 90 minutes with 45 minutes for every half-time, and the goal is to get the ball into the opposite team's gate, so very often the whole outcome depends on the goal keeper. The goal keeper has to protect the gate and prevent the other team from scoring—"

"Wait!" Fay demanded suddenly. "The goal keeper has to protect the gate…"

"Yeah, it's just like in Quidditch actually, only on the ground and without the Quaffle because we have only one ball in football—"

"No, I got it," Fay protested. "It's just… there was something about this phrase… I had some other thought just seconds ago."

"Eh? Anything important?" Dean wondered.

Fay, however, shook her head. The thought was already lost.

"It's fine," she said. "It'll come back."

They continued chattering, and the more they talked, the funnier the detention got. If every detention had been like this, Fay wouldn't have minded to have it more often. By the time they bid each other a good night upon returning to the Gryffindor Tower, Fay was tired but in a good mood, her mind wandering aimlessly as she finished up her evening routine and put on her soft blue pyjamas.

The Gryffindor dormitory gradually grew quiet as the other girls also finished up their evening routines and prepared their school bags for the next day. Fay didn't even pay them any attention. For once, she was thinking that it would be great to have a class trip to some fun Muggle place—a crazy idea, no doubt about it, but somehow appealing. Gradually, the girl's eyelids grew heavy, and she fell asleep, her mind still working.

The thought came out of nowhere.

The aim of the goal keeper was to prevent the other team from scoring. Suddenly Fay knew what had fleetingly occurred to her during her conversation with Dean. The Room of Requirement functioned much like the goal keeper, preventing the outsiders from coming in. That had to be the only plausible explanation. So as long as they kept thinking about Draco like some crazy fans, the Room would prevent them from coming in. Instead, they had to try something else and think like Draco thought. As soon as she'd come to that realization, it was crystal clear. What Draco needed was essentially a storage room for his coppery Cabinet; as such, _this_ was what they needed too. Should they ask the Room of Requirement to enable them to enter the secret hiding room—or storage room—they would get in and see everything for themselves.

She had to make sure.

As soon as the idea had come, it was impossible to resist its call. Fay pulled the curtains aside and jumped out of the bed, excitement coursing through her. She took off her pyjamas as swiftly as she could and started putting on her casual daily clothes, which were usually reserved for the common room. The dorm was quiet, and were it not for the ambers in the heater, it would have been completely dark, for the moon was new tonight, and a thick layer of clouds was obscuring the stars from sight. The four beds belonging to her fellow Gryffindors stood around her in a circular formation, two of them with their curtains closed, the other two open and deserted. Hermione's beside table was perfectly neat with books, rolls of parchment and quills displayed in separate orderly heaps. Parvati's, on the other hand, was as messy as usual, and besides the school things, it contained a few cosmetic products that bore distinct traces of use, and also a large hairbrush with pins and elastics and a cream. Lavender's bed was empty, but unlike the other empty bed by Fay's left, where her friend Anna used to sleep and which was bare and cold, Lavender's pillow and duvet had been thrown on carelessly, and her usually neat bedside table with its pretty decorations reflected her current sadness, for it was disorganised and unattended to. Fay quickly threw a sweater on, certain that she would find Lavender in the common room. And sure enough, when she descended, she saw the blonde girl sitting in the armchair before the hearth Harry usually occupied, a purring Crookshanks on her knees and two tear streaks on her cheeks.

Fay blinked at the sight. She had always thought Hermione somehow found time for brushing out the half-Kneazle's fur or the House-Elves did at the very least, but it seemed it had been Lavender's doing.

"I didn't know you took care of Crookshanks," Fay spoke up in the darkness, startling Lavender.

"Sometimes," the blonde girl muttered.

Fay nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Why don't you go to sleep, Lavender?" she asked. "It's late, and you'll be tired tomorrow."

"I'm not sleepy," Lavender replied, now giving Fay a more thorough look. "Isn't your detention with Snape over?"

"It is," Fay answered, barely resisting adding, 'obviously'. "It's past midnight."

"Then why aren't _you_ asleep?"

"I... have to... go somewhere. I'll be back—you won't tell anyone, will you?"

Lavender shook her head. "Where are you off to? May I... go with you? I can't sleep anyway."

"No, don't—honestly there's no need," Fay spoke up hastily.

_More company was the last thing she needed, for Godric's sake!_

Lavender's expression saddened, however.

"Are you sure?"

"Listen, Lavender, it's not because... ah...you know…"

Fay paused. She couldn't really say, 'because everyone thinks you're stupid', although it was kind of true. There was also the fact that she, Parvati, Padma and Luna were all going for Valentine's shopping while Lavender had been excluded due to all of this mess.

Fay sighed.

"Lavender, why don't you... I don't know... speak up more? I mean, you know how everyone is; the girls probably didn't even think anything about it... And nobody will know you're offended if you cry to yourself..."

It was hypocritical, Fay had understood that the moment she'd spoken.

"Look, I'm not the one to talk, really—people used to—well, they still think—I'm a weirdo, so there's that. But listen, it doesn't bother me—not in the slightest—however, being alone does seem to bother _you_... So, honestly... speak up. More often, I mean..."

Lavender listened in silence, and once Fay was done speaking, she nodded and looked back at the fire, scratching Crookshanks behind its ears. Fay saw the opportunity and seized it.

"Right... I'll go now, all right?"

And with that, Fay silently retreated, giving Lavender little chance to say anything else.

Lavender opened her mouth to try and persuade Fay to take her along, but the other girl was gone.

Carefully hoisting Crookshanks onto the other sofa, Lavender stayed in the darkness of the common room, having a little odd, ominous feeling about this night stroll.

The common room remained just as dark with only a few logs burning weakly in the fireplace, throwing eerie shadows everywhere.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hogwarts itself was now as dark as the moonless sky, and Fay's Lumos was barely sufficient to show her several feet of her surroundings. More than once, she stumbled over something solid she had not seen in time. There were no signs of ghosts or even Peeves, for which she was grateful, yet the very silence and emptiness of the halls was somewhat unnerving, and even her newly recovered excitement could not quite dispel this feeling. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was about to catch Draco Malfoy in the act, and every shadow seemed to be watching her and twisting, as though, like Crabbe and Goyle, they were spying for him and attempting to intimidate her. At last, she made her way to the seventh floor, reaching the top of the staircase, which seemed to float below her feet in the flickering light. The tapestry of Barnabas and the trolls was there; the figures were all sleeping. So was, surprisingly, Sir Cadogan. Fay turned her back on them and found herself face-to-face with a smooth wall.

Heaving a deep sigh, Fay walked past that wall three times with only one thought in her mind.

_I want to get to the room where all objects are hidden._

That should do it, she thought.

And sure enough, a door materialised in the middle of the wall as Fay watched, fascinated.

It was true; such a room did exist. Sure, she'd believed Harry, but seeing it with her own eyes was a whole different matter.

A disappearing door. A door leading to the room one needed for a precise occasion.

It was simply brilliant.

At last, taking a step forward, Fay opened the door.

It was beyond anything she could have imagined. The room was huge, but this was an understatement: there were literally no limits to it. And all of its space was crowded with objects of most diverse sizes, shapes, nature and use. Old cauldrons concealed tattered books and broken quills; pieces of furniture were heaped one on another and covered with jewellery, outdated coins and broken glass. Bronze dishes glinted from the gloom, piled next to worthless junk and empty bird cages. There was nothing one could not find in here: even forgotten wands were available on an overflowing table, next to several brooms. A pair of skates lurked underneath that tiny piece of furniture. Wide-eyed, Fay walked forward, her wand directed downwards, at her feet, for she wanted to keep the light down, lest she alert Draco Malfoy to her presence. Besides, she could not afford stumbling here. Should she fall, an entire heap of objects would be likely to crash, and then he would locate her in seconds. Where could he be, though? She peered into the darkness, struggling to make out a beam of light anywhere around her and failing. And then, just as she made up her mind to change her direction and take the narrow path between empty antique bookcases, she saw it: the reflection of light. But this light was coming from behind her. Her breath hitching, she gripped her wand tighter and span around. Not fast enough, though.

"_Incarcerous_!"

Her wand fell out of her hand, and in the brief moment it took it to fall to the ground, it shed light on Draco Malfoy, pale, tired-looking but alert as he held her at wand point. Thick ropes entwined themselves around her entire body, causing her to fall on her back, even though she struggled to keep her balance and overpower the magical restraints. The next thing she knew, he was coming closer to collect her wand, which he slipped into his pocket. There was now a ball of light at his own wand, and he was using it to shed light on her, keeping his own face in the shadows.

"You really shouldn't have come here tonight," his familiar voice drawled.

* * *

**AN**: Hey guys, the autumn is finally here. I know I've been asking you about your preferences as to the pairing, and don't worry Harry/Fay it is then, but overall I just like writing about teenagers and character development is something I do anyways. From here on things will get a little hectic, so please stay tuned and naturally I'll be happy to get a feedback from you.

Enormous thanks to the awesome **Tarpeia** who's the best beta there is and who really helped with Lavender's development and happy reading, everyone!


	21. Chapter 21: The Turning Point

The night had fallen like a heavy winter cloak. The two men seated across the table looked at each other, a dozen candles floating between them, both defying and defining the surrounding darkness. Their eyes were grave; even the Headmaster's wise blue orbs lacked their usual twinkling for once.

"Well, Severus?" Albus asked, prompting the other wizard to speak.

The sallow skinned man didn't do so at once. A particularly bitter sneer was plastered on his features.

"What is it you want to hear, Headmaster? I haven't had any progress since the last time we spoke. The boy doesn't trust me. He won't tell me anything."

"It is essential that you find out what he is up to, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him tiredly. "A frightened teenage boy is of a great danger both to himself and the others. Offer him your help and guidance. He likes you."

"He blames me for Lucius's foolishness," Snape ground out. "He believes I have been planning to undermine Lucius's position from the very beginning. It's not easy to convince him otherwise. He simply won't listen, nor will he tell me anything about his plans."

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh.

"He can cause a great deal of damage if left to his own devices…"

"I am trying, Headmaster," Snape affirmed seriously. "Speaking of which, I am not the only one."

Again, there was a heavy sigh. He'd heard Severus's suspicions before.

"I am certain Nymphadora is helping him, which, obviously, only fuels Potter's pig-headedness. What is worse, I also have a reason to suspect she has involved at least one of her colleagues."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I caught Mr Gregory Goyle one night. He had nearly broken the curfew rule. I made sure he'd go straight to the common room, but interestingly, the Auror who had been trailing after us had asked about a Hufflepuff first year who was supposed to come from the very same direction Mr Gregory Goyle had come from. A little later, I met Nymphadora, who was also interested in that Hufflepuff student."

"It is their job to patrol, Severus."

"To patrol, yes, but to take all the strategic routes as if they had chosen to follow a specific student? Something is not right here. I suspect Potter had complained about his alleged suspicions about Draco, and Nymphadora, immature as she is, must have listened to him. It wouldn't be the first time Potter created trouble for everyone else to sort out. He's his father all over again."

"Everard, have you seen anything to confirm Severus's suspicions?" Dumbledore asked, addressing himself to the portrait of an elderly wizard with a kind face.

Professor Everard had been one of the most celebrated Headmasters of Hogwarts, and he would certainly be one of the objective sources when it came to Harry.

"Well," the portrait replied unhurriedly, "from what I observed, I'd say the pink-haired Auror is on rather friendly terms with many students, especially with Mr Potter and his friends, but inside the walls of this castle, there haven't been any—"

His report was cut short by Phineas Nigellus.

"My dear Everard, I hope you don't consider this half-blood brat as stupid as to not to take any precautions whatsoever, do you now? You are, of course, aware of who her mother is?"

"See, Headmaster? Nymphadora must be involved," Snape confirmed, his dark eyes triumphant.

"Careful, Severus," Phineas Nigellus stopped him snidely from his portrait frame. "Don't look for a confirmation where there isn't one—other than not considering my worthless great-great-great-grandniece a complete dimwit, I must join Everard in his opinion-there hasn't been any suspicious activity on behalf of Mr Potter unless you should consider the fact that his choice of company gets ever more appalling—"

"Nonsense!" Dilys Derwent objected at once, glaring at Phineas from her golden portrait frame. "Miss Dunbar is an outstanding student and a very good friend—just like Mr Thomas and Mr Longbottom—oh, I do wish they were closer—"

Phineas merely rolled his eyes, ignoring her. He was far more amused observing Snape, who, in turn, was glaring at him.

For some reason, Phineas Nigellus Black had always despised him, Snape knew that perfectly well. All the Blacks had. It came out particularly well on occasions like this, when the bloody portrait would toy with him, first pretending to assume his side, only to humiliate him seconds later. No matter how trivial the portrait's tricks were, Snape had no intentions of putting up with such an attitude. He was no longer a half-blood Slytherin willing to prove himself, but a wizard of influence with a considerable power in his hands.

"Even if there is no tangible proof of Harry's involvement with Nymphadora, Severus might indeed be right," Dumbledore mused, not oblivious to the tension between his former Potions teacher and the Blacks' ancestor.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Severus nodded appreciatively.

"Nymphadora must be... relocated. It would be safer," Dumbledore continued, recalling Walter Aragon's report on Harry and his new friend, Fay Dunbar, as they had accompanied Nymphadora to the Aurors' room one morning, their hands full of food.

It was not entirely impossible that Harry had asked Nymphadora to investigate her cousin, Draco. They certainly had got closer this year. It was also prudent to trust Severus, for in spite of his bias, the man had a very sharp intuition.

The wizard in question was wisely quiet, knowing full well the Headmaster didn't like hearing any criticism as far as Potter was concerned.

"Very well, I shall speak with Nymphadora's superior and make sure she is assigned somewhere else," Dumbledore decided. "However, Draco's situation must be resolved, Severus—you know as well as I do it was only a matter of luck Miss Bell is alive and recovering."

"He denies it," Snape declared. "But it doesn't take a Legilimens to know he's lying—even if Bellatrix is teaching him Occlumency—he is simply too desperate. The Dark Lord never wished him to succeed; he only wished to have a pretext that would allow him to destroy the Malfoys once and for all, and perhaps Draco is starting to realise this."

"Which brings us to another matter," Dumbledore said gravely. "The Vow you made to Narcissa. It is paramount we find a way to fulfil it in a way that would allow keeping Draco safe and unharmed, and Tom not suspicious of anything."

As the impenetrable black eyes locked with the serious blue ones, both men knew that their decision would affect the destinies of many people.

Yet as they sat there, somewhere far in the Gryffindor Tower, a student was also wide awake.

Alone in the common room, Lavender wavered. Fay had disappeared, not telling her a thing. She truly did not like this. There was the undeniable fact that, should Fay be caught by a prefect or a teacher, she risked to find herself in a lot of trouble—indeed, Lavender doubted Fay's business had anything to do with the approved school matters. But there was something else. Frightening and mysterious things had taken place at Hogwarts throughout that year, the attack on Katie being the most frightening of all. What if Fay were on some sort of trail... or even if she weren't, what if wherever she had gone was just dangerous? As far as Lavender was concerned, it was not safe to go out alone after curfew. Her ominous feeling was irrational and impossible to explain, yet it was growing more solid with every minute. She knew she had to do something.

What was the best course of action, though? To see Professor McGonagall? Their teacher was fair and stern, yet should Lavender alert her, Fay would most certainly be in trouble for being out of bed at this hour. But whom else? Hermione was one of the prefects; she would have been both willing and able to find Fay and bring her back. Except... Lavender didn't really want to ask for any help from Hermione. It was because of Hermione that Ron—

Yet as soon as her thoughts turned to Ron, even though it was only in relation to his prefect duties, Lavender quickly realised that thinking of him pained her a great deal. No. She wouldn't ask either of them for help. As Ron flickered through her mind, however, she suddenly knew the answer.

Harry!

Harry was among Fay's closest friends. Well, at least one of her friends if not the closest one—they had been hanging out together a lot this year. He might even know where exactly she had gone, for they frequently seemed to be planning together.

Her decision taken, Lavender lost no time. Leaving Crookshanks to bathe in the warmth of the fireplace, she made her way to the boys' dorm and carefully ascended the stairs, taking care to choose the right room. Burning ambers provided a semblance of light in that moonless night, but it was hardly sufficient to make out Harry's bed among the five beds she could see.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, and a ball of light appeared at the tip of her wand.

The boys, it appeared, were horribly disorderly—clothes, books, everything had been tossed on the floor and chairs. Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia was decorated with something that _definitely_ looked like someone's red boxers with a bright _S_ letter on them.

"AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!"

The scream had lasted for about a split second, and all Lavender could do was drop her wand and join in the screaming before someone swept her off her feet—quite forcefully so. Someone's forceful kick on her calf made her lose balance and fall face-down on a mattress. A tiny fraction of her mind could only be grateful it hadn't been the floor or a wooden post she'd hit with her jaw during the fall, yet the scary experience was far from over. The next moment, someone grabbed her wand arm and twisted it painfully behind her back. Luckily, all the screaming had woken everyone up, and the next instant, numerous candles sprang to life, brightly illuminating the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.

From the corner of her eye, Lavender could see Ron, who, apparently, wasn't wearing any pyjamas and was sitting on the edge of his bed, covering his bare freckled chest with a blanket. Neville's frog, Trevor, croaked loudly as its owner stumbled over it and fell down with a groan. The pressure on her hand eased immediately.

Several astounded voices shouted her name along with a mixture of questions, all of which obviously meant to ask what she was doing there. Ron's voice was the loudest of them all.

"Bloody he—blimey! What are you doing here?" he shouted at Lavender.

Before Lavender could respond, Seamus interrupted her.

"Someone's harassing you, Ronnie-Bunny?"

Reacting quickly, Harry helped a somewhat shocked and confused Lavender up. It was also his obligation as a friend to help Ron and spare him Seamus's jokes.

"Err… Lavender, perhaps you should wait until mor—"

Before he could even finish his phrase, however, Lavender seemed to have recovered, her big blue eyes trying to convey some sort of urgency.

"NO," she all but shouted, "IT'S YOU I WANT!"

This seemed to have done it. Everybody burst out laughing, not leaving even a shadow of the earlier confusion and sleepiness.

"Put your gear back on, superman," Dean sniggered at Seamus, tilting his head towards the Mimbulus Mimbletonia and causing Seamus to flush a brick red for a change. "You might need it."

Not sure what that was all about, Lavender decided she didn't even want to know.

"Please, Harry, I need you—come with me!" she pleaded, tugging at his arm.

The green-eyed teenager, on his part, was completely taken aback and didn't even want to look at Ron, who seemed to have frozen while impersonating a frightened maiden.

"Lavender, I—"

"You don't understand—Fay's in trouble—you have to come with me."

Lavender's last declaration changed the situation dramatically.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded immediately.

Lavender thought about it.

"You know, I'm not sure. She just… left… for a night stroll, but… it's just… I have a bad feeling."

"Are you sure she didn't leave for the kitchen to get you girls some drinks for your slumber party?" Dean tried.

"We are NOT having a slumber party!" Lavender shouted. "You have to believe me—my bad feeling never lies—something's off."

Harry still looked unsure. He'd seen himself how dramatic Lavender could be and had heard more than enough stories from Hermione. Ron, it seemed, shared his opinion. Seamus and Dean looked just as sceptical.

It was Neville who looked truly doubtful.

"Did Fay say where she was going?" he asked Lavender quietly, making sure Trevor wouldn't get away again.

"She… didn't tell," Lavender admitted somewhat lamely before recalling Fay's suggestion. "But I am not stupid. She… she looked like she was up to something… um… dangerous—I mean, she didn't want me to come with her, and if she didn't want me to come with her, there must have been a reason because the reason—"

Suddenly Lavender broke off, as if forgetting what she'd started saying.

"Anyway," she started again uncertainly, apparently not even knowing what she was going to say.

"Can you recall the last thing she told you?" Harry asked quickly.

"She said, _I'll go now, all right? _And then she was… gone."

"Right," the boy commented drily, disappointed Lavender couldn't be any more informative.

"My bad feeling is not wrong—you have to find her—what if it's connected to… you know, the Ca—"

Harry quickly shook his head to indicate he didn't want their Malfoy case discussed. Whatever Lavender might have known about it, more publicity regarding the matter certainly wasn't needed. In his attempt to salvage the situation, Harry turned to Dean.

"Dean, during tonight's detention, did Fay mention anything at all that could help us figure out where she could have gone?"

Dean thought about it.

"Dunno," he admitted, "we just chatted about anti-Snape gloves and then those Norwegian pancakes and football—oh, wait, there was something—the football: I just explained to her about the goal keeper and how it was not so different from the Keeper's position in Quidditch, except there's no Quaffle, and then she stopped and…"

"And what?"

"Well, she had some thought, but then she kind of lost it, and we continued chatting about football. Eh, any ideas?"

Harry pondered this, trying to recall what they'd last talked about with Fay. They had been discussing evidence they'd found in Malfoy's dormitory, and also waiting for any news from Tonks. They had gone through everything they had on Malfoy, agreeing that their findings were circumstantial at best, and had finally proceeded to discuss the Cabinet and whether it could be hidden in the Room of Req—

"Room of Requirement," Harry said out loud.

"Room of what?" Dean echoed while everybody stared.

"Dean, it's where we had our DA lessons," Harry commented absently, ignoring Dean's _right_. He was starting to catch on. He and Fay had been unable to get into the Room before.

"Dean, what did you say about the Keeper again?" Harry proceeded asking almost rhetorically.

"The Keeper prevents the other team from scoring by guarding the gate—come on, Harry!"

"It prevents the other team from scoring, but… there is a flaw. The Keeper is not always able to protect the gate, right? Just like the Room of Requirement isn't perfect. Umbridge was able to find us, wasn't she? If Dobby hadn't warned us, she would have smoked us out. So why couldn't we get in earlier?"

Dean looked at Harry uncertainly.

"What are you—"

Before Dean could finish the sentence, Harry had already sprung up and begun pulling Dudley's oversized jeans on. He suddenly knew what had occurred to Fay and where she could have gone. His wand was on the night-time table, and he didn't want to waste another moment.

"Will you explain what's going on?" Dean persisted.

"I need to get to the Room of Requirement. Right now."

Dean must have been extra alert, for he seemed to sense the change.

"I'll go with you," he said matter-of-factly, not questioning anything but also reaching for his casual clothes.

"Lavender, could you… err," Ron piped up, still covering himself with a blanket.

Neville came to his aid, though, by helpfully claiming Lavender's attention.

"Did you tell McGonagall?" he asked. "It's just…"

"No," Lavender assured him, turning her back to Ron. "I came right here. I didn't want to get her in trouble."

Neville nodded his thanks before turning towards Harry, Dean, and Ron. "I'll go too."

"Let's not waste time then," Harry announced, knowing from experience it was pointless to argue.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

While the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was a blur of commotion, the two people in the depths of the Room of Requirement had hardly moved.

"Sorry, I thought you were Potter," Draco bit out, approaching Fay's immobile form.

"Right—you can take those off then," Fay muttered, her face cringing in pain. "It's the second time that meeting you results in a health damage for me, I'll have you know."

"I told you," Draco shrugged, "you shouldn't have come here tonight. How did you find me anyway?"

"Logic and deduction," Fay shot back.

"Right," came the dismissive answer.

And with that, Draco started dragging the still bound Fay out of the way, ignoring her protests and struggles. He came to a stop near a heap of objects. On her left, Fay could see the coppery Vanishing Cabinet. It looked absolutely magnificent. An elaborate woodwork was merged with coppery locks and numerous decorative motifs applied with such mastery that they could almost be mistaken for the kind of embroidery one would only see on a very expensive cloth. A few candles were lit, hovering above it and providing weak beams of light. Several big books and a pile of random objects were littered around it. Draco didn't let her study the sight for long, though.

"Spill," he ordered. "What are you doing here and how did you find me?"

Fay pursed her lips.

"And what if I don't tell you?"

"Then I'll make you," Draco shrugged. "Besides—you will."

"Draco, why are you doing this?" Fay asked despite herself. "I mean, yes, you've told me: Muggle-borns never really bother to understand the wizarding customs and merely see everything we have here as some old-fashioned version of their world—all because we adopted busses, radios, lifts, and typing machines. Trust me, I've seen enough of this superiority—there are many Muggle-borns in Gryffindor—but really, think about it, think of the sheer numbers. Hogwarts has the capacity for roughly a thousand students, but if you count our year alone, then in our year, there are only forty of us and it's pretty much the same for every year, and that accounts for less than three hundred students in the entire school—and you know as well as I do people didn't start to leave only at the beginning of this year. And even if you tell me there might be some half-blood families who prefer to receive magical education elsewhere, it still doesn't make sense. One way or another, there have been far too many deaths due to that dark wizard—the McKinnons, the Prewetts, also many of your relatives—and for what? Because of that conflict of vision some of us have with Muggle-borns? It's not worth it, don't you see?"

"Are you quite finished?" Draco asked sullenly. "Do you really think it's so simple? If it was about killing off scum like this Mudblood cunt Granger, I wouldn't have cared!"

Fay cringed.

"What? Does it shock you I called Granger a Mudblood cunt? That's exactly what she is."

"I prefer a… more refined use of the language if you don't mind," the girl admitted.

The blond teenager waved her off.

"Whatever." He shrugged. "How did you know I was here? How did you know about this place at all? And don't tell me you came for a midnight stroll."

"Wasn't going to," Fay grumbled just as sullenly.

Draco waited.

"I… have been observing you, you were right," the girl then admitted. "You appeared constantly sleep-deprived, and then…the very fact that you took a precious family tome with you… You obviously needed information. The question was, information on what exactly."

Draco smirked.

_He'd known this_.

He'd suspected something like that all along.

"I was right, wasn't I?" he asked rhetorically. "You and Potter broke into our dormitory. Funny how everything is forgiven to saint Potter and his friends. If it had been anyone from Slytherin breaking into your dormitory, the whole school would have turned against everyone who's wearing a green tie."

"Well," Fay muttered, deciding not to argue, "it became apparent you were looking into history, so I did the same. I spent hours in the library studying everything there was to study about your ancestor, Nicholas Malfoy, and also about everything that could be somehow connected to Hogwarts, and about what happened back in the 14th century."

"Right," Draco commented drily. "You and Potter were clumsy. Theo knew something was off. And Blaise too. _Everybody_ knew. I knew it the moment Pansy complained to me about having had to wait for Daphne in the Three Broomsticks. So how could it be that Theo saw Pansy with Blaise standing near my bed in our dormitory when none of them was really there? You were Pansy, and Potter was Blaise."

Fay sighed.

It was all true, naturally, but that wasn't the point.

"You still haven't answered my question," she reminded him. "Why are you doing this, Draco?"

Draco ignored her.

"So, to sum it up," he clarified, "you and Potter broke into my dormitory, saw the tome and then you proceeded stalking me, which, by the way, is highly ironic, for if a wizard stalks a witch, it's immediately _creepy_—just listen to how loudly Granger complained about McLaggen before he found someone better to take to a party—yet if a witch stalks a wizards, that's absolutely acceptable, isn't it?"

"I wasn't stalking you!" Fay protested immediately. "Everyone could see you were constantly tired—not just I—ask anyone!"

"Why? Did I offend you?" Draco mocked. "Relax, I was speaking generally."

"Generally, I agree." Fay assured despite herself. "It's the same with being subjective with good-looking and well-liked Dark witches and wizards—I mean, look how charismatic Gellert Grindelwald was during his time—even when he revealed his true face, there still were those who were willing to overlook what he'd done, and while it wasn't the case for everybody, I still doubt Umbridge would have received the same amount of debates, and imagine if Umbridge actually _stalked_ somebody; it has to be the worst nightmare of anyone ever—"

"That's all very interesting, but I'd like to hear how you knew where to come tonight."

"There is not much to tell," Fay admitted. "Seeing how we also found some copper dust near your bed, we tried to find a connection between the dust and the tome you had taken with you. In the end, Hermione found it. We figured out that it had to be a Vanishing Cabinet. They were used as means of emergency travelling and usually had some coppery decorations on them even if they were made of wood. Everything fit, so now only the theory remained. Provided we were right and that it was a Vanishing Cabinet you were working on, it had to be faulty, and that also had to be the reason you hadn't used it yet. Once we understood this, Harry figured out where you might be keeping the Cabinet. There were other clues as well, of course: Crabbe and Goyle as well as handed them to us on a silver platter."

Draco looked surprised, so Fay clarified.

"Vincent's hands were shaking in a very particular way; I figured out it was from an excessive use of Polyjuice. It can do that if you drink it too often."

"Well, it shows your family's into the Potions," came a dry comment.

Then Draco heaved a heavy sigh and came to sit down next to her, pensively looking at the Cabinet.

"Draco?"

"What?" he snapped.

"You know what—I hate to ask again, but honestly, I have to—why are you doing this? You are too smart for this. Too smart to be used like that."

"Don't you see?" he asked in a different voice. "I have no choice. I have to do this. If I don't… If I fail…"

"Do you need to bring in the Death-Eaters?" Fay asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Only in the worst case scenario. The Cabinet is… for myself, so that I could escape once I've done what I need to do."

Fay looked at him attentively.

"Draco, what happened to Katie wasn't an accident. She nearly died."

"It wasn't my fault," Draco snapped, his voice full of vehemence. "That old cow misinterpreted my order—Salazar, I have to be working with idiots!"

_Old cow?_

Something told Fay Draco wouldn't answer her if she asked, so instead of pressing on, she thought of the next question she could ask.

"Katie was never supposed to get hurt, was she?"

The blond young man clad in his elegant black suit didn't answer. It was self-explanatory.

"You have nothing on me," He then said, an impossibly arrogant smirk fully in place. "Just some copper dust and an old book, which prove nothing. Other than that, you have no evidence against me whatsoever. And should you admit how you and Potter got your hands even on these circumstantial clues, you will end up in far more trouble. Ironic, isn't it?"

Fay ignored him, knowing full well where his trail of thought was heading.

"Whom were you supposed to hurt instead of Katie?" she asked. "Harry?"

Draco stared at her, his expression, while undoubtedly arrogant and full of contempt, showing also something else—what, Fay couldn't quite place her finger on.

"It's all about Potter for you now, isn't it?" he asked bitterly. "Typical."

"What? No! I mean, it's just… logical. Whom else would that… wizard… want hurt? Only Harry occurs to me, and I can't help thinking that someone like you—a fellow student, a classmate—would be just the one for the job."

"Doesn't matter," Draco shrugged. "It's you I have to deal with now."

"Me? Why me?"

"So that you wouldn't go and tell on me—you don't think I'll just take your word for it, do you now? What were you thinking, coming here?"

"I wasn't… thinking," Fay admitted. "I was just checking our theory… Now that I'm here, though, I was hoping to at least understand why you were letting yourself be used like this. I sincerely think you are too smart for this, Draco. That wizard who calls himself a _lord_ out of all things doesn't have the wizards' best interests at heart. Not at all, and it pains me to see you are falling for that. You could be doing grand things instead of… you know… _this_."

In response to her speech, the blond boy next to her smiled bitterly.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to flatter me. But Gryffindors can't possibly be so sly, can they now?"

As Fay opened her mouth, he interrupted her before she'd even started.

"I have no choice. I simply have no choice. He'll kill my family. He'll kill my mother, then me, and then my father. I have to succeed, and to succeed I have to… get rid of you."

There was silence.

For the first time, Fay was afraid.

Before she could formulate a response, she felt her left arm seized in a vice-like grip. He pulled her to her feet as though she were a rag doll, grasping her other arm in the process, and then started hauling her away. His face had turned impassive, and she saw a blank look settle over his usually cold eyes, just before he turned away to look where he was taking her. Fay saw it too and let out a cry. He was dragging her towards the Cabinet, and despite her resistance, he was succeeding-his moves were swift and forceful, though almost mechanical. Impersonal.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she yelled, panicked. "DRACO?!"

He didn't react regardless of the fact that her screams had only intensified.

"Shut up!" He grunted.

Then, as he already opened the door to the Cabinet with the obvious intention of pushing her inside, inexplicably, he just dropped her. For a moment, as she lay there, panting, his footsteps retreated. A loud crash of broken glass almost made her jump out of her skin; she twisted on the floor to find him with her eyes, instinctively crawling away from the Cabinet. He was standing in the shadows, holding onto an old bookcase while his back heaved from his gasps of frustration. His eyes were unseeing but he could feel the old wood beneath his fingers and longed to crush it and feel the pain as it sank into his skin. The fear he had seen in Dunbar's eyes had gone through him like a blade. At that instant, it was as though their minds had connected and her mind had reflected the fear that was eating him alive in all its reality. And perhaps it was true. Her words were true, no matter how much he was trying to deny it-she understood him, had understood his actions and expressed everything that he himself had been thinking, however unwilling he was to admit it. And when he had seen that fear reflect in her eyes, he had realised he could not do it. He could not dispose of her, consciously send her to death. At that moment, he could feel more clearly than ever that he was nothing like Greyback or Dolohov or even his aunt, Bellatrix.

He knew what he had to do. Resisting the urge to look back at the nosy Gryffindor, he took out his two-way mirror. There was only one person in the world who could help him now.

Yet at that very moment, there was a loud bang and a buzz of noises. Several people had just invaded the Room of Requirement.

He froze, the mirror half-way to his face. It was impossible. He knew the voices, but how could they have been able to come here so fast? Not that it really mattered; they were coming to help that fool and catch him in the act. He had to get out of there at once before they found him. To his right, there was a dark passage formed by heaps of broken old objects on both sides, and he turned to duck into it, his reflexes sharp and fast, the mirror back in his pocket without even his awareness.

"Malfoy!"

It was Potter's voice. Draco sped through the narrow passage, moving quickly and with precision in these meanders he had come to know so well. He took the dark way to his left, and to his dismay and frustration, came face to face with Potter, who had obviously taken the opposite way to cut him off. The sight of the Scarhead blocking his way with his wand drawn, his stubborn green eyes full of attack, made the blood boil in Draco's veins. He was not letting Potter get him delayed and arrested and put his family in danger; he would never again suffer him to interfere in his plans. The time of the games had ended, and now it was between the two of them. He was going to teach him the long-deserved lesson.

For an instant, the boys just faced each other, both their faces showing nothing but mutual disgust verging on plain hatred, and then the jinxes and hexes were released.

Draco's wand was raised before Potter could attack him first, and a blue light shot from its tip as he concentrated on knocking the Scarhead back, making him lose balance and fall over.

"_Filipendo!"_

The unknown jinx or curse hit Harry before the latter could even begin to think of a defence strategy. It had occurred to him only now that the Ferret had to have been trained at home. The impact with the floor made his head split in two, it seemed, but instinctively—knowing Malfoy would attack him now that he was down—Harry did the only thing he could do under the circumstances.

"_Protego!"_ he yelled before another curse could hit him.

Then, ignoring the pain, he quickly jolted himself up, only to see that Malfoy was trying to get away, docking behind a pile of something that looked like old cauldrons.

"Oh, no you won't," Harry grunted right at the blond's heels.

Half-turning as he sped away, Draco flicked his wand, causing the heap of cauldrons to topple and start cascading down, blocking Harry's path and threatening to tumble onto him.

This time, Harry was prepared.

_"Arresto momentum," _he uttered, making the heavy objects freeze in mid-air, not letting Malfoy escape. _"Stupefy!"_

Draco had been expecting the new spell to come as well, and he dodged the red beam of the Stunner with a yell. The curse that came to his lips was meant to turn his enemy's legs as soft and unstable as jelly.

"_Locomotor Wibbly_!"

It was Harry's time to dock. With a swift motion of his wand, he summoned one of the old cauldrons to meet the Ferret's spell. Heavy metal turned swiftly wobbly and bounced off the ground.

"Give it up, Malfoy," the raven haired teen yelled, panting a little. "You know we've got you."

The truthfulness of his words was immediately backed up by Seamus's and Ron's distant yells trying to locate the duelling boys.

It only seemed to increase Malfoy's rage and determination, though.

_"Expulso!"_ the blond teen yelled, seizing the moment when Harry was forced to block the spell to duck into the nearest passage.

As several objects exploded, Harry's mouth and nose were immediately filled with ashes and smoke, making it impossible for him to breathe even if the impact of the explosion itself could be felt only to a minimum. Most importantly, Harry was losing time, and Malfoy was getting away. Chasing was pointless, his vision was severely limited by the smoke. It had to be the Room's magic that nothing was on fire yet.

Everyone was yelling. Loudest of all Ron, but Harry couldn't care less. His heart was pumping fast, his whole body dominated by a powerful rush of adrenaline.

Briefly, Harry closed his eyes and tried to think.

Malfoy wanted to get out—so _he_ had to get to the exit first and stop the Ferret. Luckily, Harry knew just the way. Docking and jumping over several objects, he finally managed to glimpse the Slytherin creeping silently over various piles, trying not to make any noise.

It was time to make Malfoy taste his own medicine—the Leg-Locking Spell.

"_Locomotor Mortis."_

Draco felt it at once but could not overcome it in time-there was the sensation of the floor sliding from beneath his feet, and he fell to the ground, scrambling up as quickly as he could and raising his wand to shield himself from any other spells the Scarhead could send his way. He saw the latter approach in a run and felt rage course through him yet again. It was all because of Potter. Everything that was happening now was his doing-he was always about to ruin everything, to interfere, to poke. Sending a Revulsion Jinx in his direction, Draco drew himself to his full height, not running any more. His anger was almost palpable, and he was summoning it to cast not another jinx, but a curse.

As Harry caught up with Malfoy again, he knew immediately something had shifted. He gripped his wand tightly, trying to be prepared for anything that might come from the Slytherin's wand.

Then it happened.

"_Crucio_!" Malfoy yelled, his eyes, for once, not icy but full of fire and desire to _harm._

Not pausing to think, a certain piece of magic written down in a narrow handwriting on an old and withered sheet of his Potions book came to Harry's mind.

And he knew how to respond at once.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

The two formidable curses collided in mid-air.

The next moment, there was a terrible, agonized scream, coming not from either of the boys, but from someone who'd been lying on the ground just a few steps behind Draco.

Despite themselves, both teenagers froze.

In their hateful duel, neither of them had noticed the tied up girl who had been lying feet away on the ground, struggling to break free from the binds. Fay's body was convulsing—no less than a dozen bloody gushes had appeared all over her torso and arms, and they were bleeding so profusely that a pool of blood had formed beneath and around her in seconds, soaking her thin clothes and hair, causing her to cough and whimper.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The spell had come from somewhere on Harry's right, and it took him seconds to understand it was Neville who had cast it.

Malfoy had fallen onto the ground, but it wasn't important anymore.

His hands were shaking.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes off the awful sight, and he felt horribly helpless.

"Out of the way!"

For a moment, Harry thought the angry command had been addressed to him, but spinning briefly around, he saw Dean making his way over to Fay, pushing Lavender aside.

"Quick, help me apply pressure," Dean instructed. "Do you know how to stop it?"

"No," Harry admitted, swiftly following Dean's orders.

He'd understood what Dean was trying to do the moment he'd pushed Lavender out of his way.

Dean was a Muggle-born, he knew about the concept of the first aid.

The Dursleys had never taught him any of that, but he trusted Dean to know what to do.

And now that his own panic was over, he also knew Fay was losing blood rapidly and that they had to get her out of here.

Ron and Seamus had come to Neville's aid, and Malfoy had been long since neutralised.

Lavender appeared to be in shock.

"Don't just stand there—get help!" Harry ordered the rest of them as he and Dean were frantically trying to stop the bleeding.

The pool of blood was increasing, and Lavender found herself staring at it as if hypnotised. The bustling, the boys' shouts, their frantic attempts to help Fay, even the Petrified form of Malfoy, everything seemed to come across to her through a muffling veil, almost in a slow motion. She felt as though she were about to collapse. And then she felt a sharp nudge on her arm.

"Don't gawk—crack on—we have to get help!" Seamus as good as yelled into her ear. "Where's the bloody exit?"

It was difficult to break out of her torpor, but she forced herself to shake off her hypnotising horror and turned around to locate the exit.

"There!" She pointed at the high ornate door half-concealed by heaps of objects.

"Let's go—the first Auror you see, grab 'im, bring 'im here and let 'im have gander, got it?" Seamus ordered, taking her by the hand and as good as dragging her in the process.

He, too, appeared very nervous.

She could only nod numbly, dragging her feet as fast as she could, for they appeared to be made of lead. As soon as they emerged from the sultry, noisy Room into the cool corridor, silence enveloped them, making it easier for them to gather their bearings. Lavender pointed at a narrow staircase on their left to indicate the place where Aurors patrolled. She was panicked, and it was difficult to think straight. Fortunately, Seamus had understood what her mumbling meant.

"Right, stay 'ere in case the door closes and I—"

Seamus never got to finish, though. The silence Lavender had found so odd a few seconds ago was abruptly disturbed by several angry voices echoing all around.

One of the voices, Lavender would recognise anytime anywhere-it was Professor McGonagall, and she appeared to be extremely angry.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hermione had woken up sensing something was wrong. What had completely astounded her, however, was the fact that Parvati was awake too, and the reason became obvious pretty soon: they were alone in the dormitory. Neither Lavender nor Fay were in their beds.

It didn't take long for both of them to understand the other girls weren't downstairs in the common room either, and a brief investigation, majorly facilitated by the blabbering portraits, soon showed them that the boys were gone too. Before either knew it, both Hermione and Parvati were facing McGonagall, who apparently had been alerted about all the missing Gryffindors.

"Sir Cadogan said he lost track of them when they reached Barnabas and the trolls," Parvati urged, catching a patrolling Auror.

"Miss Patil!" McGonagall protested. "It is no way to address—"

At this very moment, however, two figures emerged, running towards them. They were Seamus and Lavender, both obviously upset, especially Lavender, and both trying to explain something of great urgency.

"It was Malfoy, we got him Petrified, you've got to—" Seamus declared, panting, but was cut off by Lavender's shrilly shouts.

"She's losing blood, he cut her—I mean, Malfoy—come quickly, it's in the Room of Requirement—"

"He duelled Harry but tried to run out—"

"There's blood everywhere—"

"Lead the way," the Auror whom Parvati had intercepted earlier demanded, making sparks appear from the tip of his wand.

It had to be a visual signal for his colleagues, yet before Hermione could spare it any more thought, they were joined by another person—professor Snape.

The teacher's sallow face was even paler than usual, as though he were not feeling well.

"I am looking for my student," he told professor McGonagall. "I have been notified he is out of bed. Have you received an indication of his whereabouts?"

"Please remain calm," one of the Aurors demanded. "We are getting the students out any second now."

"Severus," Professor McGonagall uttered, "I need to get Miss Brown to the hospital wing—would you stay here please?"

"I'm afraid I cannot, Minerva. If one of my students is being attacked, it is imperative that I locate him at once."

Instinctively, Hermione grabbed Parvati by the arm, for the latter looked like she wanted to say something to their former Potions teacher that she'd soon regret. It was also understandable, she would be very angry too if someone were delaying her friend from getting help—even if, frankly speaking, Lavender appeared to be physically absolutely fine. Professor McGonagall seemed to share their indignant feelings, for she pursed her lips, her stern face showing a deep disapproval.

Luckily, they didn't have to wait for long. Professor Snape and the Auror had barely had time to exchange another set of polite phrases when the missing students started to emerge, accompanied by the Aurors. Neville and Ron came first, both looking nervous and uncertain. Then Malfoy, escorted by an Auror. He didn't appear to have been attacked. He came walking independently, albeit looking angry and put-out.

What she saw next almost made Hermione issue a shriek. She let go of Parvati, and the latter gasped, clasping her mouth with a hand. Lavender started sobbing.

It was Fay. The Aurors levitated her out on a stretcher, and a single look at her as she was ushered right past them revealed she was badly injured.

To make matters worse, Harry and Dean, who came right after, were both covered in blood.

One of the Aurors approached McGonagall.

"Madam, these students need to be questioned as soon as possible."

Before professor McGonagall could respond, it was Snape who spoke again.

"You are, of course, aware we are not allowed to let you question underage students without supervision?"

"We are aware of the procedure, thank you very much," the Auror responded coldly. "I hope you are as well."

Hermione looked at Draco. He was very pale, almost shaking, yet he was not looking at Snape. Hermione had a distinct feeling he was forcing himself not to.

There was no time to analyse any of this, however, for the next moment, McGonagall claimed all their attention.

"All of you—listen up—stay right here. I will take Miss Brown to the hospital wing. Once I return you, are all expected in my office."

Hermione found herself nodding numbly, and so did some of her classmates. Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, turned to Aurors and then Lavender, her voice much gentler.

"You shall question my students as soon as I'm back. Now, come, Miss Brown—it will be all right."

"I shall escort you," Snape interfered, addressing himself to Professor McGonagall. "I can help you attend to Miss Dunbar."

He swept all the present wizards with his usual stern look, which lingered on Draco for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, conveying a silent message the boy alone could detect. Then he turned towards the Auror he had spoked to earlier. "As discussed, the student from my House is not to be subjected to any questioning while I'm away."

The Auror nodded, muttering something that was an obvious agreement.

Such a development didn't sit well with Harry.

"Why not?" he asked as Snape disappeared.

The Auror made sure to give the teenager a stern look before answering that the protocol did not allow the questioning of an underage witch or a wizard without the presence of an adult or a guardian.

"However," another Auror spoke all of a sudden, "it is not forbidden for us to deny you the opportunity to speak, should there be such a wish. Is there something you would like to say, Mr Potter?"

Everyone watched the exchange.

Harry seemed to know the Auror in question.

"Yes, I would," he answered, his face set.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Auror Williams motioned for Harry to come with him, which Harry promptly did. They entered an empty classroom. The door was left a little ajar, yet Harry saw the Auror flicker his wand as some sort of mist was released from its tip.

"The Soundproof charm," came the clarification. "However, this is not a questioning, so you are free to leave whenever you like and you have the right to refuse to answer any question without the presence of an adult or a guardian."

Harry nodded but wasn't really interested in delaying. He wanted someone to consult, and this particular colleague of Tonks's was on good terms with her.

"What's going to happen now? How's Fay? Will Malfoy be arrested now?" he asked.

"Your friend has been hit with a very dangerous Dark curse, and the Healer is doing everything she can to heal the wounds. If everything goes well, a little Blood Replenishing Potion is all that she needs. In case these cursed wounds prove too difficult to heal, she will be transported to St. Mungo's," Arnold Williams informed him. "As to your other two questions, then it will depend on what's happened in there."

The Auror paused a little and then continued.

"I am aware Tonks and our most recent colleague are out tonight, and I'm willing to bet it has a lot to do with your suspicions in regards of Mr Malfoy. Do you want to tell me what took place in that room?"

Harry nodded again.

"Fay and I understood what he was after. It was the Vanishing Cabinet. We didn't have evidence anymore, but everything suggested this had to be it. The copper dust, the magical advancements of the time period he'd been investigating—we figured that if we were right, there had to be two such Cabinets."

"But you needed someone to make sure you were right," Williams finished for him, sparing him the explanation.

"Yes. And then remember when you and Tonks taught us those moves? Fay understood they'd been using the Polyjuice Potion, and what you and Tonks saw also fit. It was clear to us that we had to make sure we were right, and the only way to do this was to catch him in the act."

"Why did your friend go in there alone? If I remember correctly, we explicitly asked you not to do anything on your own. You destroyed all the evidence the first time and caused unnecessarily harm to a student—haven't you learned from your actions?"

Harry didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say.

"All right," Williams sighed. "What happened in that room before we arrived? It is in your interest to tell me your side of the story now because all the wands will be checked anyway and we will get the whole picture in the course of the questioning as well."

"I was the one who… did this to Fay," Harry admitted.

For a moment, he was afraid to see the disappointment and the accusations in the Auror's face, and he didn't need any of that. He was feeling bad as it was. Fay had been seriously injured because of him. Why he'd even used that curse, he wasn't sure. The Prince had never let him down, but… Hermione had been right. Using any kind of magic without thinking was the most irresponsible thing one could do. Not thinking of the consequences beforehand was irresponsible, and he should have never done it, except at that moment, something had come over him. All of the injustice.

Dumbledore had made it sound like he didn't even want to consider the possibility of Malfoy's involvement in Katie's accident. It was almost like Malfoy was getting a special kind of protection. It was unfair. Simply unfair. When had he, Harry, had any protection? As soon as something went wrong, Snape was always there to accuse him. And not only Snape—the whole wizarding world. Every year, he would put himself out there only to have everyone hate him.

And it was not like he was playing the hero. He might not even had to do this if someone had just believed him in time, but this time, even Ron and Hermione hadn't. At the same time, Malfoy would strut around, calling the likes of Hermione "Mudbloods", and no-one cared. Not to mention that the tosser had admitted it out loud and clear that he would have been only happy if Hermione were hunted down and killed along with the other Muggle-borns. It was just too much. And when Malfoy had used the Cruciatus… something had come over him. It had been time to react.

Before Harry knew it, he was telling all of it to Williams, confessing to what he'd done and why he'd done it.

"I… had enough… It was as if I'd reached my limit. All these years, he'd done nothing but abuse the others and hide behind Snape's back—I don't even want to get started on the Inquisitorial Squad and everything he'd done under Umbridge. And when he used the Cruciatus, I just recalled that spell and how it was _for enemies_…"

His voice faded.

The Auror sighed. "I am not going to preach you—I can see how this night's events have affected you, and what has happened to your friend is more than enough. I trust you have learned your lesson. Your wand will be examined, however, and you will be required to give us the source of the curse. If the curse is not registered by the Ministry and it is clear that you used it unknowingly, both facts will speak in your favour. All the evidence gathered will be presented to the Headmaster, and his word will ultimately decide what kind of action shall be taken henceforth. I do not believe you will be expelled, though there is still a possibility that Miss Dunbar might wish to press charges against you. Should that happen, there will be a hearing at the Ministry."

Harry understood. He was ready to give the Prince's book to the Aurors and have his wand examined. He had nothing to hide. He was more worried about what was going to happen to Fay. And also if all of this was even worth it.

"What about Malfoy?" the teen asked.

"If what you are saying is true and he used the Cruciatus, he is most likely to be expelled, and there is nothing the Headmaster can do about it, regardless of his position. Using an Unforgivable is a very grave offense. A hearing is most likely expecting him as well."

Again, there was a nod.

"If there isn't anything you'd like to add, Mr Potter, you are free to go for now. Your wand will be examined in the presence of Professor Minerva McGonagall. The official questioning will take place in her presence as well."

"The Cabinet—it's in there," Harry said as they both stood up. "I saw it."

Williams nodded, understanding the teen's unvoiced request. The Vanishing Cabinet was indeed a backdoor into the castle that could have been used by anyone—including the Death Eaters.

Having left the classroom after that brief conversation, Harry watched as Williams joined his colleagues, briefly tilting his head towards Malfoy, who, just like his Housemates, remained in the company of the Aurors until both Snape and McGonagall came be back.

As soon as he was out, Hermione rushed towards him first.

"Parvati told one of the Aurors everything just like you did, not waiting up for Professor McGonagall—it's allowed—she's gone to the hospital wing now. I asked the Nearly-Headless Nick; they're calling out a Healer from St. Mungo's. Her mum's been informed too."

Harry swallowed; it sounded bad.

"Harry," Hermione started cautiously but fell silent in an instant.

There were footsteps. Someone's heels were tick-tocking against the stone staircase.

Narcissa Malfoy emerged in the corridor. Her imposing figure, held straight with her head high, was clad in a white dress with large sleeves and elegant dark ornaments, her hair secured in a formal knot. The contrast between her pristine, aristocratic appearance and the bloodied and sweaty students wearing pyjamas and flanked by the somewhat bleak-looking Aurors was such that she could have been easily mistaken for a medieval ghost, had her skin been any paler. Her face, however, was very much alive, and despite her cold and haughty expression, her eyes exuded fire; there was something almost fierce about them.

"Mrs Malfoy, I presume," Williams spoke up. "My name is Auror Williams. There has been an incident, in the light of which, young Mr Malfoy needs to be questioned."

Narcissa spared him a cold glance.

"Does the Auror Office have nothing better to do than target children?" she asked. "No wonder the wizarding streets are not safe."

"There is no need to take such a tone, Madam," the Auror responded just as coldly. "For now, young Mr Malfoy is nothing but a witness. I shall only require his wand to make sure he has nothing to do with tonight's incident where a student has been attacked, and obviously, we are to follow the protocol, and you will be present during the questioning."

"Very well," Narcissa Malfoy replied. "We have nothing to hide. The noble name of Malfoy has always been among the purest. However, I do retain the right to call our representative from Wizengamot."

"If you think you are in a need of defence, absolutely," the Auror agreed before turning to one of his colleagues. "Harold, do inform the Headmaster and his Head of the House as well. Now, shall we, Mrs Malfoy?"

As the pair of Aurors retreated for the questioning with Williams being one of them, Harry turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, how long did it take you to do your hair for the ball?"

"I used Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, and it took a while. Why?"

"What did you notice about Narcissa Malfoy?"

"What was I supposed to notice?" Hermione asked, perplexed. "She came in here, looking, well, elegant and—"

"Exactly," Harry said. "Look, when Lucius Malfoy came in here after we'd got out of the Chamber, he was all dishevelled—like it was at the last minute's notice that he had decided to come. _She_ doesn't quite look like she has just left her bed, does she?"

Hermione understood, her eyes widening. "Oh, you mean—"

"Someone told her."

"Harry—you don't mean…"

"Snape," he grunted. "He's been covering for Malfoy all this time, I'm sure of it."

Hermione took him gently by the arm. "It's all right now, Harry; he's been caught."

"Has he?" Harry challenged. "What about all these connections the Malfoys have?"

Hermione bit her lip; she knew Harry's fears were not unfounded, but Ron immediately took his side.

"He used a bloody _Cruciatus_, mate—his mother can say what she want, but there's no way out of _that_."

"Yeah, I'll testify as well—I saw it," Dean said, joining them.

"I wish McGonagall had come sooner," Seamus commented. "I want to testify already and go to sleep. I feel completely banjaxed, mind you—that was not the kind of a night stroll I would look forward to."

"What about you, Harry?" Neville asked, also coming closer. "Are you going to be in trouble?"

Harry knew what he meant. He, too, had used a very Dark curse. Of course, he hadn't known what it was, not that it excused him.

"I don't know." He sighed heavily. "Call me if the Aurors want me. I'll be in the hospital wing."

"D'you want us to come too, mate?" Ron asked uncertainly.

Harry shook his head.

He headed to the hospital wing. On the way, he glimpsed Malfoy and his mother leaving Hogwarts in the company of the Aurors. Snape briefly joined them but didn't linger. Harry didn't linger either. If he was honest with himself, he didn't feel any joy about Malfoy's apprehension. Like Parvati, he felt he ought to be elsewhere right now.

* * *

**AN**: Hey, here's the update. Not very cheerful perhaps, but suspenseful I hope. My special thanks go to my beta **Tarpeia** and **NiceEgan** for a lovely review. A little while ago I was accused of presenting Draco Malfoy in a too favourable light, excusing him of everything and "bashing everyone else" only because—according to the individual who wrote it—I think Draco's hot. Well, I hope this chapter clarifies all the emotions Draco is going through.


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